Ramblings
by jazzyproz
Summary: A One Shot, possibly a series of One Shots, of rambling thoughts from our favorite characters. Now Rated M!
1. Amazing

****A/N****

****Hello! ****

****I have had a bit of trouble with my muse of late. For various reasons, my creativity has been lacking and I've had trouble pulling myself from the slump. ****

****I found a handful of old, roughly sketched One Shots that had been living dormant in a forgotten folder on my computer. This is one of them. In order to jump start the writer-in-me, who has unfortunately chosen to go into a comatose state for an undetermined amount of time, I decided to blow the dust off, clean it up a bit and put it out there for your enjoyment, or criticism, whichever the case may be. ****

****I never have, and still don't, claim any success in writing from a first person POV. I don't fool myself into thinking I have a knack for getting inside any of our favorite characters' heads and minds. But that doesn't necessarily stop me from dabbling within that framework. I think you'll figure out when this takes place, it's pretty damn explanatory. ****

****I think by now everyone knows I don't own Bones or its characters… If I did, B&amp;B would have *a lot* more affection for each other on screen rather than only in our little FF world. ****

**Ramblings**

**_Amazing_**

My partner is _amazing_.

Amazing in every sense of the word. She is the best Forensic Anthropologist in the world, a NY Times best-selling author several times over; an inspiration to all who take the time to know her. Temperance Brennan is a genius unaware of the powerful spell she holds over those who look up to her and blissfully ignorant to the adoring looks that her students, both male and female, shoot her way when they think no one else is watching.

But I'm watching. I am _always_ watching.

My partner is as beautiful as she is brilliant. _Why wouldn't I watch_? I've been watching her for years. Watching and learning, watching and cataloguing, watching and protecting. She says she doesn't need protecting… Like _hell _she doesn't… I've never met anyone who finds herself in as much trouble as my Bones. I believe her when she says that she doesn't do it on purpose - I just think she acts on impulse and that doesn't bode well in the game of avoiding trouble.

When Bones and I first met, I was disgruntled by her nonchalant way of dismissing my knowledge and opinions, not to mention her blunt manner of always pointing out when she was right and I was wrong. And _man alive_, did she hate to concede on the occasions that I was right… She would usually gloss over the outcome, ignoring my taunts about her being wrong, and she'd point out something, _anything_, that would still prove her to be superior. That's OK, though, I learned to recognize her little qualms and quickly fell in love with her many idiosyncrasies. I learned to appreciate the quiet contemplation that surrounded her whenever she would mentally process something that I had said or done that turned out to be helpful. And I carefully avoided pointing these times out to her. I let her process in her own way, on her own timeline. I could always tell when she succumbed to my way of thinking or when she would finally agree with me - it was always in her eyes. _Those crystal-like, bottomless, hypnotic, emotional eyes..._

Bones is a woman of many, many emotional layers.

When people learn of her 3-year stint as a ward of the State, they often brush off the long-lasting effects it left behind. I've heard comments made that she _'should be over that by now_,' or cruel remarks that she uses that time _'as a crutch'_ on which to blame her own inadequacies and fears. When I hear shit like that, I can feel my blood boil… I wanna grab that person and repeatedly pound their head into the nearest wall until they fall from my fist, a limp pile of flesh and bones on the floor at my feet, and nothing more... And then, when they complain about a headache the next day, I'd tell them they should be over it by now and to stop using it as an excuse not to work. _Fuckers_.

Bones kept her history quiet for a long time. I knew most of it, because I read her file prior to asking for her help. But I never let on that I knew. Even when Angela was telling me about Bones' past, I let the artist talk as if it was the first time I'd heard the story. I find that when I let people talk freely, rather than interrupt them with what I already know, I learn a shitload more. I learn about the things that a report _can't_ tell, I learn about the emotion, about the _person_. In Bones' case, I learned about the mistrust she held for pretty much everyone. I learned that, despite the fact that her file indicated she had excelled scholastically as a ward of the State, she had done so _only _out of necessity. If she hadn't focused on her school work, she wouldn't have been granted scholarships, thus losing her chances of getting into the universities that she so desperately wanted to attend. Those scholarships and grants helped make her into the person I'm now watching over. Her experiences at the universities, both good and bad, formed the driven, selfless woman that I now love.

People scoff when they hear me refer to Bones as _selfless… _

Those who don't know her think she is egotistical and arrogant, cold and distant...and they equate those traits to selfish and unyielding. I'm almost ashamed to say that I, too, once thought she was simply full of herself… But then she proved me wrong. She took that test I gave her, dismantled it and threw it right back in my face, along with a helluva right hook. She attacked the case we were investigating with tireless enthusiasm and a vigor that I hadn't witnessed in any of my FBI colleagues. She sought only the truth and justice for our victim, disregarding her own needs of sleep and sustenance in the process. She wanted to give a voice to those who could no longer speak, those poor souls who could no longer tell their own stories. _That_ was when I learned just how selfless Temperance Brennan could be.

That was also when I appointed myself her personal watchdog. I made sure she ate. _Hell_, I even let her steal my beloved diner fries, _and anyone who knows me, knows I love my diner fries…_Though I must admit, the first time she reached across the table to snag the crispy, golden piece of deep fried goodness, I was shocked. She was always preaching healthy foods, telling me shit like I was setting myself up to die young and that my penis was gonna shrivel up and fall off if I didn't eat better… And yet there she was, stealing my fries and stuffing them into her mouth, _that perfectly delectable mouth_, in between bites of her garden salad, _lite Italian dressing on the side, please…. _I can't help but shake my head and smile...

I also made sure she went home at night. I was shocked to learn that her co-workers didn't find it unusual that she would often sleep at the lab. It seemed whenever she became engrossed in research, regardless of whether it was an active case or a 200-year-old skeleton, she worked through her exhaustion, taking naps on her office couch only when absolutely necessary. Apparently Angela had given up trying to get Bones to go home on most nights. But I'll be damned if I was gonna let my partner work herself into an exhausted stupor. Nope… I would come by the lab, long after all the other offices were dark, and I would drag her out of here, making promises _that I had no intention of keeping _that I'd leave her alone the following evening. And she let me. Sure, she complained and resisted, but in the end, we shared most of our dinners together.

The more time we spent together, getting to know each other, the more I realized what a warm and loving, not to mention grossly misunderstood, woman Bones is. We became much more than partners, more than friends, even. I shared my history with her. I told her things that I've never told another living soul. I've opened up and admitted my past to her in ways that I'd never done, said things aloud that I'd only re-lived in my tormented memories and nightmares.

And I know she confided in me about things that were so painful for her to remember, that there is no way in hell she would have told anyone else. Bones let me see her fears, her insecurities. She's let me thumb away countless tears as they streamed down her flawless skin. She eventually even let me give her hugs, as long as I qualified them as 'guy-hugs'. But c'mon, now, everybody knows that I ain't huggin' any guys unless its Pops, Parker or Jared… _What the hell is a 'guy-hug' anyway? _She confessed how painful it is for her to hear that she's considered 'cold'… I can still remember the embarrassed look that distorted her beautiful features when she told me about the first person who told her she was unlovable because she was nothing but 'a cold fish.' I held her for a long time that evening. Right there on her living room couch, she folded herself into an unbelievably tiny ball of Bones and let me envelop her in a cocoon of Boothy-safety. The more times she let me wrap my arms around her, the harder I started to fall. It wasn't long before I realized it was hopeless to fight it. But I knew that she would never feel the same way about me as I felt about her. So, I tamped down those desires and resolved myself to an existence of perpetual-hard-ons whenever we were together.

Over the course of our partnership and friendship, we've both ventured off the path to take care of those 'biological urges' as she likes to phrase it. I've done my share of preaching to her when she gets all squinty and anthropological about monogamous relationships, but I have to admit, there was only so much I could take care of on my own. So, I'm not proud of my relationship indiscretions. _And_ while I hate to even think about my Bones with another man, I understand.

And now I watch her, down there on the platform, giving hell to a junior-intern for fucking up some mass-spec-test with excessive electromagnetic properties, _or whatever the hell kinda shit these kids around here do_, and I feel an unexplainable swell in my chest.

She's mine. I'm hers. Completely.

No one else knows yet. It's been three weeks since she came to me for comfort in the dark moments before dawn. Three weeks ago tonight was one of the hardest nights of our lives; we lost Vincent earlier that day. But it was also, without a doubt, one of the most important nights of our lives… In those quiet moments as I held her in my arms, stroked her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her warm, flushed skin, I told her what I needed her to know. It had been too close of a call in the lab… Had I handed the phone to Bones instead of to Vincent, I would have lost her that day. And that would have shattered my world into a million little irreparable pieces.

"_I love you, Bones. You don't have to respond, you don't have to love me back, but I need you to know, above all else, that I love you and I have for a long time."_

She raised her tear-streaked face from my shoulder and pinned me with a piercing look. Her eyes were wide, she was searching for any indication of ulterior motives; she was _studying_ me. I was about to reassure her that she didn't need to respond, that I didn't expect anything in return. But she surprised me by stretching up and pressing a gentle but firm kiss to my mouth.

"_I love you, too, Booth." _She whispered against my lips. She shocked me. I never, not in a million years, expected her to respond like that. "_That bullet...was meant for you… I don't want... **I can't** lose you." _She choked on her words, tried in vain to swallow her tears.

I palmed her face, traced my calloused thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away the salty streaks marring the perfect canvas of skin. I remember apologizing for my rough hands. She simply snuggled into me, lowering and pressing her forehead against the side of my neck. I knew she was exhausted, weary. It was obvious she hadn't slept while she was out on the couch and the mere action of admitting her feelings aloud, I know, took a lot of courage for her, adding to her stress-induced fatigue.

"_Let's sleep, Bones." _I threaded my fingers through her hair, feeling her nod and exhale in a soft sigh. The sensation of her warm breath ghosting across my Adams Apple made me shiver and I rolled slightly, so she could still rest on my shoulder, but I was angled enough to look down at her.

It felt so perfectly natural to lay with her in my arms like that… It didn't feel new or uncomfortable, it didn't feel like undiscovered territory. As she drifted off into a much-needed slumber and her weight increased against my body, the one thing that sticks out in my mind above all else about holding her for those few hours was the feeling of completion. My partner was the one person in the world who could make me feel whole. Here I was - an average guy who had a rough start to life but caught a couple o' lucky breaks along the way and ended up in the FBI, partnering with one of the smartest people on the planet. Temperance Brennan was my confirmation. Confirmation that I had done _something_ right at some point in my past...Confirmation that I made the right choice in career. And her presence in my arms, in my bed that night, was the confirmation that we were both finally on the same page.

I knew sleep wouldn't come for me again on that night, but I was beyond satisfied to simply lie there with my partner while she slept. Bones had been on an emotional roller coaster that would've been hell for anyone, but for my emotionally-stunted and sensitive best friend, it was especially hard. I coaxed her to out of nightmares and back into peaceful rest more than once during those dark, early hours and my heart nearly exploded when, in the fog between awake and asleep, when her guard was down and the filter that often stopped her from saying things was non-existent, she mumbled my name, fisted my t-shirt and told me again that she loved me. The fact that she offered the sentiment without my prompting solidified the feeling and I had to catch my breath as I fell harder than I ever imagined possible.

The following morning, there was no awkwardness, no hesitant approaches. Bones let me hold her while I leaned against the counter and we waited for the coffee to brew. And she reached for my hand when we were walking down the stairwell to the truck. When we pulled into the parking garage at the Jeffersonian, she didn't want me to walk her upstairs, insisting that she would be fine. I knew what she was doing, though. She was trying to distance herself temporarily, trying to compartmentalize. But before she slipped from her seat, Bones leaned across the console and pressed her lips to mine, threatening to kick my ass if I didn't come back safe that night.

I knew I had to keep my head in the game, the game of catching Broadsky, but my thoughts were swimming with visions of Bones.

A warm and sleepy Bones wrapped around me. A trusting and vulnerable Bones looking to me for guidance and understanding. A desperate and passionate Bones as she kissed me there in the truck and waved goodbye as she crossed the blacktop. I watched until she entered the staff elevator and waited until the security guard signaled to me that she had arrived upstairs safely.

When we finally saw each other that night, as the group of us bid Vincent a fond and final farewell, it was all I could do to not wrap her up safely and carry her off over my shoulder, locking her away from danger forever. But we managed to wait until we reached her apartment. There was never any question about whose place we were going to once Bones declined Angela's invitation to go out for drinks at Founding Fathers. We were barely inside the apartment when she turned to me and flung her arms around my shoulders, sobbing against my neck and clawing at my trench coat. She was spilling tears of sadness and regret for Vincent, but I knew she was also crying in relief that the day was over, and Broadsky was in custody.

"_Shhh… It's OK, Bones. C'mon, let's sit, Baby_." I whispered against her loose hair, the moniker slipping out without conscious thought, though she didn't argue. We sat for several long, quiet moments, swaying and touching gently, stealing kisses.

I'm not even sure who started it, who made the first real move, so-to-speak, but before long, all the angst and fears of the day, along with the years of tension that had built-up between us was shattered as the metaphorical dam broke. At some point, _how the hell we managed it I'll never know_, we ended up back in her bedroom, clothes had been shed along the way and finally, _finally(!)_, I was running my hands over her soft curves and silky skin. It should be illegal to have skin as soft as hers. Her strong, wiry fingers mapped my shoulders and chest, my jawline and along my back, she was cataloguing my skeletal structure, and I was fine with that… I wanted her to touch me; I wanted her to _know _me.

I cupped her face, that gently square, smooth jaw of hers, and tilted her head up until she was looking into my eyes. For a moment I think I forgot how to breathe, her blues were so wide and clear and honest. "_I love you, Bones. And I promise to love you until my dying day_."

"_I know, Booth_," she replied and she pulled my head to hers, slanting her mouth beneath mine.

We made love that night. We broke the laws of physics several times over. We took turns taking the lead and giving in. It was unlike any other experience I've ever had, and I dare say it was the same for her. Tomorrow it will be three weeks since we made love for the first time, but today it's three weeks since I knew for sure that we would be together, since I knew the one person who had the capabilities to enrich my world or shatter me, also loved me in return. And there's no other feeling in the world like this.

And as I sit up here in the lounge, my feet dangling over the edge while I watch my partner at work, I know that there will never, _ever_ be another woman for me. I know she feels me watching her, because she always knows. And like always, she'll give me hell for it.

My partner is Amazing… yes, with a capital A. And she's _mine_, in every sense of the word.

****Postscript A/N****

****It's no secret that I love that time period when B&amp;B were still finding their ways back to each other, post-Hannah. I know this is a little beyond that, even, but I don't always have control over what gets written. I just type the words as they flow through me. ****

****The other random One Shots hidden away in my folder of madness may or may not end up here, under the ********Ramblings ********story heading, not sure yet. Any and all errors are mine; I asked no one to edit me, so I own them - blame me. ****

****If you're following DPO, you'll see that I've noted "temp hiatus" on the summary. I still haven't given up complete hope on that tale, but my muse isn't cranking out the story that was initially meant to be told. For those of you who've patiently waited and left me messages, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And if you have added it to your watch list, you will get a message when I update it again. :) Tusker left us a couple of weeks ago, and we sure miss him… It's been a rough past couple of months. ****

****peace &amp; love, my friends****

****~jazzy ****


	2. Jaguar

****A/N Thank you all for your kind response to "Ramblings". ****

****This is another long-forgotten little diddy I had sketched out and it sat sitting in that same abandoned folder for I-don't-know-how-long. I thought it would categorically fit within the realm of this collection of unrelated One Shot ******_**Ramblings**_******. I hope you don't mind. ****

****There is no distinct time-frame for this one, but it's prior to B&amp;B getting together. ****

****Disclaimer: really? Do I need to do this every time? I own nothing….****

**"****Jaguar" **

I don't know who they think they're foolin'. I mean, _hell_, look at 'em...

Like a snarling wolf, Booth all but chases off any other man who gets close to Dr. Brennan, positioning himself as the alpha, regardless of who his potential opponent might be. He's been doing it for years and quite shockingly, she's been letting him. The independent, self-sufficient and unabashedly pretentious scientist had, over the past several years, yielded unquestioningly to her partner.

OK, well, maybe _unquestionably _is the wrong word. Brennan doesn't typically question Booth in front of whoever he's intimidating. Instead, she bites her tongue, waiting before launching an all-out-war on her partner as soon as they're alone...or when they _think _they're alone. With the stealth and patience of a hungry jaguar stalking her prey, the good doctor waits until an Unsuspecting-Booth, thinking he is safely through the jungle, pushes into her personal territory a little too far. And _that _is when she pounces. She rapid-fires vocabulary that I'm certain she specifically pre-selects for just such an occasion as bringing down her considerably-larger victim while he's reeling dizzily from her strung-together-run-on-sentences.

The commonly accepted meaning behind the name '_jaguar' _is "he who kills with one blow." The mythological and legendary spirit of the jaguar is so disturbingly similar to Dr. Brennan's temperament that when my wife and I were in Mexico a few years back, and we attended a show about the historical significance of ancient Mayan symbols, as soon as they introduced the jaguar, Julia and I turned to one another in unison and mouthed _Dr. Brennan,_followed by our own snickers and chuckles. We simply couldn't resist making the comparison. It was, of course, all done in good fun, but nevertheless, we both knew the anthropologist was much like the predatory cat, particularly when it came to her partner.

"What are you grinning at, Sam?" Julia leans close and whispers into my ear.

I turn my head and admire the way her gray-highlighted hair shines under the muted glow of the crystal chandeliers. My wife of 29 years is still as beautiful as the day we were married, and I can't help but smile at the sparkle in her eyes. She's had a glass or two too many of the sweet wine provided by our very attentive waiter, and her face is alight with a playful glow.

I lean over and press a soft kiss to the rosy apple of her cheek. "I was just watching Booth scare off one of the Jeffersonian's prime benefactors. Apparently the man wanted a word with Dr. Brennan and our good agent didn't approve of the interaction." I chuckle as Julia's eyes skip across the room and settle on the partners. I continue the narration with a smile. "Now, she's gonna reprimand him for his bullishness… Just watch..."

Julia watches as Dr. Brennan jabs a pointy finger into Booth's chest and presses into his personal space, clenching her jaw and pushing up on her tiptoes to make herself appear larger. Her chin is jutting out and the hand that isn't repeatedly pounding into the tiny pleats of his tuxedo shirt is fisted at her side.

Julia leans slightly back towards me and whispers while still watching the heated interaction. "So, have they… _you know_...?"

I shrug and raise an eyebrow. "They still maintain that they are nothing more than partners. But I'll tell ya, Jules, I've lost count of the number of agents who've filed complaints against Booth for becoming a little too impassioned at defending his partner around the watercooler." I can't stop the smirk that forms when I think about the repeated actions of my favorite agent. "Of course, I take every complaint seriously...I end up calling Booth to my office on an almost weekly basis, and he knows the reason for the summons the minute he walks in… Always has his defense ready."

"I hope you're not too hard on him, Sammy," my wife admonishes me. Julia has a 'thing' for Booth, much like most women who cross his path. And that's OK with me, I know she is faithful and simply enjoys the view and the occasional flirt with the much younger agent. "He seems like an honorable man, and he's only defending his partner, he shouldn't be punished." Her hazel eyes pin me with seriousness.

"Nah," I sit back in my seat, throwing my arm across the back of her chair. "I usually end up calling the agent who filed the complaint, so I can reprimand him or her, _it'susually a __him_, for inappropriate behavior." I move my eyes back to the partners and note that Booth is now doing the talking. He has gained control of the pointy little finger from where it was pushing into his chest and holds it firmly as he meets the fiery blue eyes with rebutting words of his own. We can't hear what is being said, but I can imagine how the conversation is playing out.

Brennan is surely pissed off at Booth for his overbearing, over-protective nature and is in all likelihood reiterating her stance that she can take care of herself. It's a Brennan-Lecture to which I've often been witness. And now, Booth is invading her personal space, their noses almost touching as he spits words back at her. I know that Booth will most likely talk his way out of her wrath, but only temporarily. He'll spin her words into a tapestry of logic that works against her own, which will serve to confuse her for the moment, taming the wild cat until she's had a chance to re-think her argument. It's _after _that, after she's had a chance to better prepare a debate supporting her point of view, that Booth has to watch out... That is when Brennan-the-Jaguar will emerge, eyes blazing, claws extended and teeth bared. I never really know how Booth escapes relatively unscathed from these sessions, but somehow my top agent soothes the beast in his partner and the two of them come out smelling like roses.

Julia leans over and, without removing his eyes from the interaction across the ballroom, speaks to me. I can hear the humor peeking through her voice. "She looks like she's caving…"

"Yeah, that's typical. They'll be fine for the awards ceremony. They'll work through their difference of opinions after the evening wraps up, but before they go their separate ways for the night."

We continue to watch as Booth and Brennan move towards their table, oblivious to the many observations of their quiet, _but not-so-silent_interaction. It's apparent to anyone with an ounce of intelligence that the pair belongs together, they belong _to each other_… He steers her with ease, his open palm at the small of her back, and she acquiesces to his directional pressure, allowing him to escort her to where he wants. Their timing is impeccable, because as soon as they reach their assigned seats, the announcement is made that the ceremony is about to begin.

It is a fairly quick and painless evening. Booth and Brennan, along with the staff and select interns of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, are awarded for their exceedingly successful solve rate. Specific FBI Agents who'd partaken in especially difficult cases are recognized. Speeches are made, certificates and plaques presented, and the plans are revealed for the renewal of another two-year contract between the FBI and the Jeffersonian Institute.

At the close of the ceremony, the emcee invites everyone to enjoy the music of the band, opening the dancefloor to anyone who cares to take part. Julia and I watch for a while, sipping our wine and chatting with our table-mates. As if it's beyond our control, our gazes eventually turn to the dancing couples who've filled the floor. It isn't a surprise to either of us that my best employee leads his partner to a shadowed, less crowded corner of the room. They dance with ease, talking and laughing, moving across their claimed portion of polished floor with more grace than many professionals. Booth's hand spans across the small of Brennan's back protectively and possessively as he holds her other hand against his chest, folded almost between their bodies. Brennan's arm is stretches around his expansive shoulder and settles just below the nape of his neck, her fingers occasionally reaching up to trace the short hairs above his collar. Her head, after several stances of the song, slowly lowers until it is resting against her partner, her cheek anchored to his tux-covered clavicle.

"Would you like to dance, Julia?" I grin knowingly at the wistful smile my wife wears, and I nod towards the crowd of people growing thicker.

"Yes, I would."

We join the gathering of other ceremony attendees and enjoy the music of the live band. Unintentionally, as I spin Julia in my arms, my shoulder bumps into the brick-wall-like form that turns out to be Seeley Booth. When I turn to apologize, still unaware of with whom I've collided, I am met with a darkened glare that immediately softens upon recognition.

"Oh, sorry about that, Sir," he takes the blame, though I know it was my own overzealous twirl that caused the bump. Booth's eyes move to my wife and his smile spreads wide, "Hello, Mrs. Cullen, you're looking lovely tonight."

My Jules flushes at the compliment and I am reminded, once again, that even my wife is not immune to the infinite charms of Special Agent Seeley J. Booth.

"Thank you, Agent Booth," she replies quietly. "Good evening, Dr. Brennan."

The ladies smile at each other in greeting and I notice as Booth, seemingly involuntarily, tightens his arm around his partner, his movement almost indiscernible. Brennan's eyes swivel to me and she nods politely. "Good evening, Sir."

On impulse, perhaps to test Booth's reaction, perhaps just to play a little with my best team, I move my gaze between the partners before settling back on Brennan. "May we have the pleasure of cutting in?"

Brennan's brow wrinkles. "I don't know what that means," she immediately looks up to Booth for clarification.

With the patient understanding that I've seen countless times, Booth looks down adoringly at his partner. "It means he would like to dance with you, Bones."

"Oh," her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Do you mind, Booth?"

"Not at all. Just save the rest of the dances for me… huh?" His eyes skip across her face, taking in her reaction to his barely disguised possessiveness.

She agrees without a second thought, looking at me with a genuine smile. "Yes, Director. I accept your invitation." She lowers her arm from Booth's shoulder, almost reluctantly I realize, and turns to face me, waiting to let go of his hand until the last moment.

By now, the band has begun a new song and I watch as Booth extends his hand to my wife, politely inviting her to accept it and they begin to dance. I notice immediately that he holds Julia at a respectful distance, one hand lightly on her waist and his other held out to the side, at Julia's shoulder height. They finally turn away, my wife looking up at the much taller man with a charmed smile, and I refocus my attention on my patiently waiting dance partner. Dr. Brennan looks at me with clear, questioning eyes. "My apologies, Dr. Brennan," I nod at her slightly. "Shall we?"

She simply accepts my hand and follows my lead, though she is much more awkward than I expected. Having seen the ease with which Booth led her around the room, I am surprised at the stiff posture of the young woman in my arms. "Are you having a nice time, Dr. Brennan?"

She thinks carefully before answering, chewing the inside of her cheek as she looks around the decorated ballroom. "It has been a fine evening. The dinner was satisfactory and the band music is pleasant."

"That doesn't sounds as though you've had an abundantly good time," I smile patiently at the scientist, understanding that sometimes she has difficulty expressing her feelings. "Is everything alright?"

Brennan tightens her lips, and sighs heavily through her nose before turning her eyes up to meet mine. I am struck by the thinly veiled confusion I see there. I've always known that Dr. Brennan hates admitting when she didn't understand something, and it was very well understood within the department that she primarily turns to Booth for explanations. But here she is, dancing with me while her partner dances with my wife, and she is looking at me like I'll be able to answer all her questions…

"Booth and I had an argument earlier." She glances worriedly over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the man in question. She wrinkles her nose, which is adorable, if I am to be completely honest, and she mumbles quietly, though loud enough for me to hear. "And _now _he's just confusing me…"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dr. Brennan. Is there anything I can help with?"

Her gaze follows Booth as he dips Julia playfully, both of them laughing at something she's said. With a gentle smile raising one side of her lips, the anthropologist looks back to me. "Booth has been very much opposed to me dancing with anyone else tonight… I have had several offers and everytime I've been asked, he seems to appear out of nowhere and drags me out here to the dancefloor, dismissing the men who've asked me. And yet, he didn't mind me sharing a dance with you, Director." Her eyebrows become dissected by a little 'V' that I have often seen when she's trying to work something out. Before I can interrupt with a theory, she continues. "And _then_, one of the largest contributors of the Jeffersonian approached me this evening," her eyes drift once more over to Booth before refocusing on me. "Booth overheard Keith asking if I would join him at his beach house next weekend. He is hosting a wine auction and thought I would be interested."

I raise my eyebrows in my own suspicion. "So he wanted you to spend the _whole weekend_? Just for a one-evening affair?"

"I'm sure he was just being hospitable. It's up in New Jersey and he probably didn't want me to worry about travelling late at night. Although, if I wanted to, I could afford a driver..." Her eyes once again follow her partner as he dances with my Jules. "Booth doesn't seem to think that's the case..." She is chewing on her lower lip as her gaze moves to her left, my right, where my wife and my top agent are readied to bump into us jokingly. After they've moved a bit further away, Dr. Brennan's radiant smile fades once more and she turns back to face me. "Booth told Keith his invitation was unprofessional and that I wouldn't be able to make it next week. He said I have plans, though I have none… And he went on to say, and I quote, '_Bones'll go to your place for the weekend over my cold, dead body_'." She imitates Booth's intonation perfectly, I can't help but laugh.

I feel a little bad for bursting out in laughter when I see the indecisive struggle behind her carefully constructed mask; her independence is battling against the complete and utter trust she instills upon her partner. "Well, Dr. Brennan, don't be too hard on Booth. He's the best judge of character I've ever had the pleasure of working with." I shrug my right shoulder slightly. "Besides, it sounds to me like he's just trying to protect you."

"I don't need-"

"Dr. Brennan," I cut her off, knowing our dance is coming to an end soon. "Booth is a protector, a warrior of sorts. He is constantly on alert for any danger that may hurt the people he loves." Her brows crease in disagreement with my statement, but I keep talking, unwilling to allow an interruption. "I don't think he would steer you wrong, Temperance." Yes, I am using her first name on purpose, to gain her attention and for her to know I am speaking to her as a friend, not as her partner's boss. "You trust him in so many other aspects of your life, of your partnership...My suggestion would be to trust him now, as well. Maybe he sees something in the guy, maybe he has one of his mysterious gut feelings, it's hard to say… But as sure as I'm standing here, he wouldn't have interfered if he didn't feel it was warranted."

Dr. Brennan's eyes are pulled back to mine as our dance slows and she drops her hand from mine. I can tell she is pondering my words, rolling them around in that genius brain of hers as her pale blues look at me unwaveringly. I meet her gaze with openness.

"But he didn't stop me from dancing with you…" Her voice is soft and slightly wary.

"He knows I'm not a threat to you… _or to him_, for that matter." I am treading on thin ice here, but I want her to trust Booth. I've known for a long time how Seeley Booth feels about his partner and it seems that the good agent has finally started to grow a pair, and is slowly and carefully claiming what he sees as his.

"Of course you're not a threat, Sam, I know you would never inflict pain on either one of us. But…" Her words fade and an eyebrow arches.

"What are you concerned about, Dr. Brennan?" I don't expect a quality answer of any sort by this time, so I am not surprised by her response.

"Thank you for the dance, Director. And I appreciate your candor." She watches as her partner escorts my wife back over to my side. Before they reach us, she makes one final statement. "I will discuss any further concerns with Booth."

I bow my head in an old fashioned greeting. "It's been my pleasure, Dr. Brennan." I exchange handshakes with Booth as we reclaim our appropriate dance partners. Julia and I smirk when Booth immediately takes Brennan's hand and folds her against him to continue into the next song. We watch knowingly as the woman who was awkward at best when dancing with me, molded her body against the tall length of her special agent and the two seemingly became one.

Julia looks up at me with an impish smile. "He's a good dancer, but not as good as you…" She giggles, knowing that by the looks of the two of them dancing, anyone could tell that Booth is a superb lead. "I may have hinted to Agent Booth that he should share his feelings with Dr. Brennan. He tried _again _to deny it, to say they were 'just good friends', but he could barely keep his eyes on me while we were dancing." She giggles again and snuggles into my shoulder. "He was too busy watching where you were guiding his _just-a-partner._"

I chuckle at my wife and pull her closer. "Yeah, Dr. Brennan was very preoccupied watching Booth dip and spin you around the dancefloor. But in between her distractions, I managed to encourage her to follow Booth's lead when it came to a certain Lab-Benefactor who wanted to spend the weekend with her." I can tell my eyes are dancing in unison with the laughter threatening to erupt from my wife's throat. "Seems he was quite upset at an invitation she received earlier this evening, for what sounds like a weekend-long booty call."

"Ahh," Jules nods. "I wondered why he shot such a disapproving glare at the man we saw speaking with Dr. Brennan earlier. That man over there," she nodded her head to the first row of tables. "When he saw you dancing with Temperance, he started to move across the floor on a direct path to cut in. We _just happened_to've intercepted the man's approach…"

A throaty laugh fills the air from nearby and we spin around. Just at the edge of the dancefloor, Booth is dipping Brennan in time with the growing crescendo of the music. The anthropologist's face is flushed with enjoyment as she grips her partner's thick neck, and his smile is wide, the picture of adoration as he looks down at her. When he pulls her back upright, their noses are mere centimeters apart and they pause their movements. We aren't the only people watching while trying to appear nonchalant in our observations, but Booth and Brennan remain ignorant to their audience. Booth leans in and speaks against Brennan's ear, apparently asking a question to which she nods her assent, and suddenly the pair is leaving the floor, making their way towards the exit, Brennan's arm hooked around Booth's bicep firmly as she practically trots to keep up with his long gait.

My Jules looks up at me, smiling satisfactorily once they've made their swift departure. "Looks like you might have some paperwork to approve on Monday, Sammy," she teases.

I lean down to kiss her gently. "Well," I mutter against her soft lips, "we can hope, now, can't we?" I lead her back to our seats, silently praying that Dr. Brennan allows Booth to tame the wild jaguar for good. They are good people, and they deserve the happiness that they can only gain from each other.

**Postscript A/N**

****So, I know that one was a little different, too. First-person, present-tense, Sam Cullen. It was quite difficult for me, because I am not comfortable with a present-tense narration… My instinct was to revert to third-person observations in the past-tense, and I can't tell you how many re-reads I did to try to catch my errors.… Not sure if this was successful, I'll wait to hear from you all before making a determination. As usual, I had no Beta, so I own the mistakes. ****

****Peace &amp; Love, my friends, ****

****~jazzy ****


	3. Confused

**A/N Hi again! **

**So, just to clarify, this collection of OneShots may or may not be related to one another (I will let you know if I post one that is related to another), but most importantly, they are definitely ****not ****in chronological order. I just wanted to make sure there was no further confusion about that. These are just little thoughts that either pop into my head at random or chapters built around tiny snippets that I find in my FanFic folder, long ago forgotten or abandoned. My Muse is still giving me a relatively hard time, so I hope you like this. **

**Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Bones or anything related to the characters. The only things that are mine are these random ideas that invade my imagination, taking on a life of their own and begging to be written. **

Confused

My partner confuses me.

Baffles me.

On a regular basis.

I have come to the conclusion that he does it on purpose and inwardly prides himself on his ability to 'mess with my mind,' as Angela puts it.

He has been sending me mixed messages for years, which, in the vernacular, drives me crazy. There is no doubt, and we have never denied the fact, that we find each other physically attractive. Hell, we almost slept together when our first case resulted in my termination. But when Booth and I found ourselves partnered once again, and _more importantly,_ after Cam's near-fatal encounter during one of our cases, he made it perfectly clear that we can never be more than partners and friends. He didn't say the exact words, but I understood his inference; I understand some things better than most people give me credit for. Booth's message was crystal clear, even to me. We can never cross that delicate line of partnership and friendship by entering into a more personal relationship. We can be close friends, _best _friends even, but _never _lovers.

It's a shame, really. I believe we would be highly compatible in bed. We both have excellent stamina, we are equally athletic, though our strengths exist in different areas, on varying planes. We complement each other in every aspect of our professional lives, so there is no reason to suspect otherwise if we'd carried those same attributes over to an intimate relationship.

Despite the reality that we will never be together in that way, courtesy of the invisible line that Booth drew between us, he continues to emit various degrees of possessiveness of our existing relationship; possessiveness _of me_. If it were any other man displaying such traits, I would have put him in his metaphorical place long ago. For some unexplainable reason, however, I don't mind Booth's actions. Secretly, I enjoy his attentions, though I would never openly admit that to anyone, _especially _to him… An admission like that would be detrimental to our current relationship because he would be impossible to live with at that point, believing that he won something over me, like a battle of our wills, and I simply can't concede to his victory in that realm. Instead, I've decided to continue enjoying what we have, and eventually, maybe things will change between us. After all, one never knows what the future holds for my contract with the FBI as their Forensic Anthropology consultant.

Disregarding my internal, self-proclaimed acceptance of his alpha-male tendencies, the man absolutely infuriates me sometimes. His demanding demeanor and insistence on always getting his own way is exasperating. He basically told me, sitting on the bench that day at the park as we watched his son grow comfortable once again with the merry-go-round, that colleagues with highly dangerous positions should never intermingle personal with professional lives. Yet, we spend almost every evening together, and that is mostly his own doing.

It makes sense that when we are working on a case, we share meals and late night conversations. We talk about our findings at the lab, new developments based on his research and his indigestion problems, which he fancies are 'gut feelings' that talk to him and tell him things like who is telling the truth or who is weaving fantastic tales of falsehoods. During these times, _when working a case_, we will often lunch together and, if we are not already together by evening, we will meet for late dinners to discuss new evidence. All of this makes perfect sense to me. There is a logical and comfortable routine into which we fall, and it is a balance that I quite enjoy.

The confusion sets into the metaphorical picture when we are not working on an unsolved case. Take tonight's events for example.

I enjoy working in Bone Storage. It is a place of solace to me; a quiet space of concentration and absolutes. But my partner, the man who replaced Angela as my 'Best Friend' somewhere along the journey of our seven-year partnership, seems to think that I am a damsel in distress while working in that laboratory that he termed, '_Limbo_.'

I don't like to call Bone Storage by Booth's nickname. To me, _Limbo _seems disrespectful to those whose remains lie in boxes, long ago misplaced or lost and still unidentified. However, like much of what Booth does, his nickname for my sanctuary stuck, so to speak, and soon my team, _yes, __my_ _team,_ started referring to it as _Limbo _as well, despite my near-constant contradictions and corrections in the early days of the moniker.

At any rate, I digress. Booth seems to think I am in need of rescuing from my quiet place of work, and he disrupts my peace on a regular basis.

When the rest of the lab is silent, after everyone except security has gone home for the evening, I like to immerse myself in long-forgotten remains. It is my favorite time of day, during which I can perform the job that I love and complete the tasks for which I was actually hired by the Jeffersonian to do. But almost like clockwork on Mondays through Thursdays, and occasionally a little later on Fridays, I hear a familiar sound rolling down the staircase leading to my workspace from the main part of the lab. His unmistakable baritone voice bellows through the empty corridors and open spaces of the lab-proper, echoing against the stainless steel and glass that defines the lab for what it is: a working environment utilized for various forms of research, crime solving and identifying unknowns.

"Bones! Where are ya, Bones?!" _Like he doesn't know...yeah right, Booth… _ "Chop, chop!" He claps his hands loudly, filling the peace and quiet with a whirlwind of Boothy-chaos. "C'mon, it's time for dinner! I'm **starving**!" By the time he claims to be near death from lack of sustenance, he has typically reached the top of the stairwell, having already peaked in the general direction of my office and found it empty and darkened. "You down there, Bones? You playing with your bones again?" He chuckles at his own joke as his descends the steps, taking two or three at a time, against my countless warnings that one of these days he will slip and fall, further damaging his already-injured back. I stopped voicing my concerns long ago, however, since my advice was lost on him. Instead of heeding to my sound warnings, he just grins and gains my agreement to participate in providing him with a Thai massage in the event that he hurts himself. Why I ever agree to help him when he should simply avoid dangerous situations, I'll never know… But I would never deny him an adjustment if I think it will help.

"I'm working, Booth." If I don't put up an argument about his interruption, he would think something is wrong. "I cannot join you for dinner tonight. These remains need to be worked." Tonight, I didn't raise my eyes at his uninvited appearance.

"Aw, c'mon, Bones," his whine, by this time, is usually right beside me, as he's stalked across the cavernous room; tonight was no different. "They've been waiting, what, two-hundred years? One more evening won't kill 'em." He grinned, once again chuckling at his own humor and I simply shook my head, breathing slowly.

As usual, when I refuse to acknowledge his logic, however faulty it might be, he fills the silence once again. (_It's funny now that I think about this - when he wants a suspect to talk, he often lets the thick silence in the interrogation room force the confession. He told me once that people hate silence… And when I remain quiet, he will often do the same thing as his suspects…_)

"Come eat with me, Bones. I can't eat my fries all by myself," he leaned sideways, trying to gain my visual attention.

I know he's lying when he says things like this, because he is like a bottomless pit when it comes to eating. He could finish his own fries plus those of all the neighboring tables if he was given the opportunity.

"Booth," I admonished, still studying the bone in my hand.

"OK, OK." He stepped closer, invading my personal space by this point. "How about Wong Foo's? Sid always knows what we want to eat." He always tries to coerce me by changing eating venues until I give in.

"Not hungry, Booth," my voice is like a sing-song, teasing him in retaliation for his interruption. I typically use this type of deflection, though I know that in the end, it will not work and I will end up leaving the lab to have a meal with my partner.

"You always say that, Bones, but you _always _eat." He closed in even more, bumping my shoulder with his. "Besides, if you don't eat on a healthy basis, you're gonna end up like these poor folks..." He waved his hand in the direction of the wall of bleached bones.

When I finally raised my eyes to meet his, I was, like always, amazed to find his intense brown irises silently begging me. I crumbled immediately, unable to deny his unspoken plea. "If I take a break to eat dinner, you will need to bring me back so I can finish my research tonight." I knew what his response will be before he opened his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. OK. I'll bring you back." He will usually pause, just like he did tonight, to rethink his strategy. That is when I typically begin my mental countdown.

Five...Four...Three...Two…

"But why don't you go ahead and secure everything? Y'know, just in case we don't make it back tonight. You never know how busy Sid's will be… It _is _Friday, after all."

I won't be going back to the lab tonight, that much was obvious when we stood there in the cool room, so I began to finalize the notes that I'd gathered thus far. I eyed him sideways with a knowing glare. "Go wait in my office, Booth. I'll be up shortly." But he didn't go. _(And he says __**I **__have trouble following directions) _ He waited down there with me like always, keeping me on task and ensuring that i didn't become distracted with new observations while making him wait.

Instead, while I finished working, he paces around the room, muttering about souls and spirits, reading labels aloud and tapping the boxes gently with bent knuckles. He will often begin talking to the bones, telling them to hang in there just a little longer. He makes promises to dead matter that his 'partner will help soon,' but that he needs to kidnap me in order to make sure I consume nutrition.

So, as I packed away my work, Booth carried on conversations w unanimated bones and artifacts still waiting to be examined. He promised things like they will soon be placed to rest because I will identify them or because one of the junior geniuses that I'm training will uncover their stories and notify their families (if any still exist). Sometimes my partner's blind faith in my abilities astonishes me, and I often find myself purposefully delaying my wrap-up procedures so I can hear what he has to say. Sweets would probably accuse me of vanity if he knew I enjoyed hearing these things, but when Booth shows such confidence and pride when referring to the dedicated attention my interns and I pay to the remains, I simply can't help but slow my actions and listen to his ramblings. Sometimes I remind him that his audience consists of deceased members who cannot hear him, but he counters my reason with spirituality and insists that his promises are heard and he continues to chat while I complete my tasks.

Booth seems to know my routine and recognizes when I'm done working, and he will often call me out when I'm simply wasting time. Sometimes I defend my delayed reactions by telling him that I'm letting him finish his 'conversations.' He often reminds me, like he did tonight, that he'll be back in a day or two, and he can continue at that time.

He often pulls at my labcoat, tugging it from my shoulders as he follows close behind me, enroute back to my office. Tonight when he started, I argued that I could disrobe myself. Sometimes I will purposefully make comments, that some may deem as inappropriate,

regarding varying degrees of undress. But I do this for the sole purpose of seeing my normally cocksure partner falter and blush. But tonight, I made an exception and opted not to embarrass him. I don't really know why, but recently, things have felt different with Booth...not _bad_-different, but definitely different.

Lately, Booth has seemed more eager, more insistent on spending time together. A typical weekly pattern, when not dealing with a case, would consist of Booth invading Limbo two or three evenings to drag me off to dinner, despite my objections each time. The other nights he might simply text me, asking what I'm doing or what my plans for the evening are. When I don't receive a text from him prior to 8:00pm, I know to expect a phone call soon thereafter with an invitation to meet at Founding Fathers for a drink or two. The weekends have been hit or miss, depending on his schedule with Parker, but he still often invites me to join them for an afternoon, or at the very least, ice cream near the playground prior to him taking Parks back to Rebecca's house.

Tonight, he seems particularly edgy, like something is on his mind but he is unsure of how to approach the subject or perhaps reluctant to bring it up. After we finished dinner at Sid's, he asked me if i would join him here, at the bar for a few drinks, prolonging our evening.

"It's Friday," he reminded me with a smile. "You don't _need _to get up early tomorrow, and since you packed up your bones before we left the lab, well…" He shrugged, letting the sentence die away.

I didn't have the nerve to say 'no' to him tonight. Something is 'off' with my partner, and that has me concerned. Briefly, I wondered if he was angry with me, and I tried to think back over the week to determine if I had some something that may be been misconstrued or misunderstood. It is no big secret that I often aggravate people unintentionally by insulting them or making statements that are otherwise offensive. But usually, Booth will just come right out and tell me when I've pissed him off or done something wrong, helping me to then set everything right, and then we just settle back into our normal banter and companionship.

As I reviewed my actions from the week, however, I can think of nothing I've done to anger Booth, and I decide that when he returns to the table with our drinks, I'm going to come straight out and ask him what's wrong. I will feel better once we just talk. Not that we haven't been conversing; quite the contrary, actually. Our conversations over the course of the evening have been pleasant and open, covering topics from religion to crime, family to abandonment, and countless other subjects.

I muse at the ease with which I can discuss the pain of my past with Booth and the reassuring mannerisms he displays to let me know I'm no longer alone. He reminds me that I have renewed, _relatively healthy_, relationships with my father and brother, and as he always does, Booth reassures me that I will never again be alone, even if Max and Russ aren't there, that he will always be here for me.

On the metaphorical flip-side, I am constantly surprised when he doubts his own skills as a father. Something that very few people know about my partner is that he occasionally needs reassurance about his excellent parenting capabilities. He worries that he will turn into his father, (_a man that if ever given the opportunity to meet, I'd like to put into practice, my years of martial arts training, passing along my extreme displeasure with __**his **__incapability to've been a decent father to my partner_). But Seeley Booth, my best friend, is so far from becoming like Joseph Booth that it pains me that these worries even enter his mind. I have such high regards for Booth's fathering skills that I often fantasize about what it would have been like if I had followed through with my plans to mother a child that had been fathered by Booth.

I knew that when we talked about my desires to have a child, and Booth agreed to provide the necessary (and apparently very fertile) sperm, that he had promised to step aside, letting me raise the child as I saw fit. But I never seriously entertained the idea of keeping Booth from having a relationship with his progeny. In fact, looking back now at the whole plan, I think it may have been a way for me, on some deep-rooted anthropological level, to lay my own claim on Booth. Just as he is possessive of me on a social level, I believe I have become just as protective of my relationship with him, though I adamantly deny it whenever Angela tries to point out this notion when she observes my actions and comments.

Sometimes, on evenings like this, when it's just the two of us having dinner and drinks, I secretly think of it as a date. We often take turns paying for the meal and drinks, and although I know that society dictates that the male in a relationship should pay for a 'date,' I know that Booth's funds are limited a great deal more than mine. I never flaunt this, because I would never want to emasculate him with talk of my higher wages and book advances. Finances are a sensitive subject for him, though I don't pretend to understand exactly why. So, when he offered to go procure our drinks while I secured a table, I didn't argue, though he had paid for dinner already.

George, our favorite Founding Fathers bartender, is busy filling a large drink order for a bachelor party that is taking place in the adjoining back room. Knowing Booth will be a few additional minutes waiting to place our order, I use this time to check my emails on my phone, since I didn't have a chance to check before Booth hustled me out of the lab earlier. As I wait for my emails to load, viewing each one as they pop up on the little screen, I feel compelled to raise my eyes to where I last spotted my partner standing by the bar. Initially, I resist the urge, but I finally give in and relocate my gaze to what I expect to be the back of his broad shoulders as he is waiting his turn. My heart flutters unexpectedly when, instead of the back of his head, I see his dark brown eyes watching me from across the crowded room.

We exchange a smile: his, crooked and Boothy; mine, I think, tentative and unsure. It is at that moment when I realize there is a woman standing beside my partner, facing him and obviously trying to initiate a conversation. Although there are no indications that he even knows the woman exists as he meets my gaze, I feel a flash of something, jealousy maybe (?), darken my vision, weighing heavily on my shoulders in an instant. As if he can read my mind, he shifts, moving his weight to one leg, angling away from the pushy woman. His smile grows exponentially as I feel myself relax ever so slightly, and the bleach-blond woman must get the hint that he in not interested, and turns her attention to the man standing on her other side.

I find myself wondering why I felt the shadow of jealousy wash over me so completely. Booth isn't mine, no matter how many scenarios my imagination conjures up. He is not my mate...He is my partner, my best friend, but he will _never _be my mate.. Never mine. Almost instantly, my brain switches observational modes and I try to determine why he was ignoring the woman in the first place.

If I am to be completely honest, the stranger was very attractive. She was a small-framed woman, trim and fit with curves that were accented graciously by the black and gold dress she wore. Her dark blond, wavy hair was long and thick, obviously dyed, but still pretty. Her face was symmetrically pleasing as far as I could tell, and she seemed to fit the description of what Angela once referred to as 'Booth's kind of woman.'

But he had ignored the stranger. Instead, he maintained his focus solely on me. _Why?_ This is another one of those confusing moments when I feel as though I'm receiving unspoken signals, mixed messages on a primal basis, but it must mean something different because Booth and I will never be more than partners. He won't allow it.

When George finally gets around to Booth's station at the bar, my partner and I are forced to break eye contact. I have long forgotten about the new emails waiting to be read as I hold my phone mid-air. I can't explain my increased heart rate, nor is there any logical reason for the overwhelming heat that I feel taking over my body. It is no warmer inside the back dining area of Founding Fathers than when I first entered, though if I were a betting person, I'd go all-in on a ten-degree increase in temperature at the very least.

I'm studying the back of Booth's head, his spiky hair in need of a trim, the breadth of his wide shoulders and the proud line of his back as he speaks to George and the two share a laugh over something said. I know I am staring, gawking even, but I can't seem to tear my gaze away from his form-fitted dark t-shirt and loose fitting jeans. I have to take a deeper breath as my eyes travel down the length of his long legs, because I know what is hidden beneath his pants. Besides the various times I've seen Booth's body in a variety of dress (or _undress_ as one case forced my hand to remove his clothing piece by piece - _oh whoa is me_…), my partner has used the pool in my apartment building on several occasions, and I have happily joined him for many of his visits.

I've admired his naturally tanned skin, well-toned chest and back, his strong thighs and yes, the vision of of his perfectly-proportioned glutes has been fuel for eventual self-gratification on more sleepless nights than I can count. When Parker accompanies him to my pool, sometimes we all play games and, whenever possible, I use my false 'misunderstanding of the rules' (_complete with innocent eyes begging forgiveness_) to tackle Booth every chance I get, grabbing his shoulders or grazing my open palms across his smooth chest. We don't play games when it's just the two of us swimming, we generally just talk and float around… Maybe I should suggest that he help me better understand the various rules of the different games when we're alone. I can use that time as an excuse to want to improve my sports knowledge to surprise Parker on his next visit… Booth will most likely agree to my proposal if that's the case.

I am startled when he turns abruptly to face me, a glass in each hand and his smile falters, falling from his handsome face instantly. I am afraid that he caught me staring and I've upset him or made him uncomfortable. My eyes drop to the now-darkened cell phone screen and I pocket the device quickly, trying to distract myself from my foolish daydreams. That is when I notice a man leaning against the chair to my left, eyeing me expectantly.

Wrinkling my forehead, I look at the man, immediately determining that he is no comparison to Booth in attractiveness, and I wonder aloud why he is leaning over my table. "Can I help you?" I ask marily, uncertain of how long he has been here, unnoticed.

The man laughs, rolling his head back before looking back down at me. "Maybe you've had one-too-many already, sweetheart," he chuckled again, though I don't know what is so funny. "You didn't even hear me, did you?"

I can feel Booth's rapid approach, the cadence of his steps obvious to me, even over the heavy beat of the music blaring from the juke box. "Did you say something?" I ask the stranger, still not understanding why he is standing next to me.

"Yeah," he nods and looks at me patronizingly, immediately putting my on guard. "I asked if you would like to dance, baby. And maybe join us for some drinks after?" He smiles and points over his shoulder at the large gathering of men in the back of the room.

I flash the man an incredulous look, noting that his smile is too wide for his face, and not at all charming like Booth's smile, and his top teeth are crooked, again, not pleasing like my partner's. Before I can refuse the man, however, Booth's voice cuts into the conversation angrily.

"Beat it, pal," his aggressive tone interjects without apology. "And don't call her '_baby_.' Show some friggin' respect, huh?" He places my drink directly in front of my seat and his directly to my right. He remains standing, however, his shoulders squared and his eyes dark and menacing.

"OK, OK... Sorry, man." The party-goer's hands are raised in defense. "I just saw a pretty lady sitting alone and thought she might like some company, that's all. I didn't mean to hit on your girl."

"I'm not his girl," my answer is automatic, spewed forth without conscious thought after years of rote repetition. "I'm his partner. We work together." I feel Booth's glare turn in my direction now, and I meet his eyes, slightly startled by the disapproval I see shining back at me.

"Oh," the unattractive smile returns. "Then maybe you _would _like to dance?" He is looking at me again, no longer threatened by Booth's presence or postured warning.

"No she wouldn't," Booth answers for me, not even giving me the opportunity to speak for myself. "If she wants to dance tonight, she'll be dancing with me." He reaches for my hand and I take it without question, feeling once again confused about what is happening around me. Booth pulls me to my feet and narrows his eyes at my would-be suitor, and as if he needs further punctuation to his statement, he specifies. "And tell your buddies over there that she is with _me_. All night." The angry glare has turned threatening and before I know it, his arm is around my waist, pulling me into his side.

I don't argue. I don't know why, but I simply allow Booth to lay claim on me without discussion or debate. It feels so natural to be leaning against his strong body, that without my conscious consent, my arm has found its way under his arm and loops up until my hand is draped across his shoulder. Perhaps 'draped' is the wrong term. I grip his thick shoulder firmly, pressing my fingers into his muscle just like I had done when we were in Vegas - when he was Tony to my Roxie.

When the opposing stranger has finally resigned himself to the beat-down that he's just been delivered, he nods at me and then looks at Booth with a smirk. "You're a lucky guy."

"Yeah, I know." Booth's answer is short, though I'm having difficulty following the conversation or the exact meaning behind the lucky-comment. I just took a deep breath as I leaned into Booth's secure embrace and my lungs were filled with the scent of his cologne, the remnants of his aftershave and the overall scent that is just-Booth. My head is swimming; I feel drunk, though I haven't touched my drink, and lightheaded though I know I'm perfectly healthy.

Once the guy is out of earshot, rejoining his bachelor-party friends, Booth turns to face me, his arm still circling my waist. Feeling breathless and unsure about the interaction that has just taken place, I wait until Booth breaks the silence hanging between us. He suddenly looks sheepish, yet his eyes flicker with something else I can't quite name, but recognize on some ancient, anthropological level.

"Sorry, Bones," he sighs and shifts a little, but maintains his hold on my waist, his hand now resting at the gentle curve above the small of my back as I face him fully. "I shouldn't have spoken for you… Maybe you _wanted _to dance with the guy…" His eyes are almost black, his jaw ticking with anxiety.

Suddenly feeling mute, unable to utter a word, I simply shake my head to the negative.

His eyes move across my face, pausing on my mouth, my cheeks, my ears and finally on my questioning blues. He seems to have come to a decision about what he wants to say.

"I hate when guys hit on you. Especially when they call you names like 'baby' and 'sweetheart'. Who the hell do they think they are to impose a name on you? And to assume you'd be OK with it…" His voice fluctuates between angry and possessive, his hand twitches and finally I feel his fingers span wide, covering more of my back.

"You imposed a nickname on me, Booth." My reaction is instantaneous, automated.

"That's different. I respect you. Always have, ever since that first day." His blackened gaze changes, transforming back to the rich brown that I see in my dreams at night. He seems to grow cautious, his words delivered slowly with careful precision. "He had no business addressing you like that. It was a cheap pick-up line. I never called you 'Bones' in that way. You deserve better than cheap lines..."

Wanting to put him at ease, I smile. "I like my nickname that you gave me." His smile mirrors mine until I speak again. "Who was that woman you were talking to?"

"I wasn't talking. She was." He is completely serious, meeting my intensity with conviction and honesty.

"What did she want?" I know _exactly _what the blond wanted; I saw the way she was eyeing his body, the way she smiled and tossed her hair when she tried to engage him in conversation. _(I have seen similar displays of sexual availability and interest many times when clubbing with Angela - often times exhibited by Angela, herself)._ And even though I know what the woman wanted with my partner, I want to hear it from him.

"For me to buy her a drink," he shrugs one shoulder. "And probably a whole lot more."

Swallowing thickly, I bite my lower lip and reply. "She was very pretty…"

"Was she?"

"You didn't notice?"

His answer is quiet; so softly-spoken that that I almost don't hear it. Somehow, though, his deep voice cuts through the drone of bar noise and music, filling my ear as he leans closer. "I wasn't looking at her, Bones. I was looking at _you_."

"Why?" I breath my question. My heart rate has increased and my throat is dry as I reflexively tighten my fist around the handful of shirt I still grasp, now at his shoulder blade since we are facing each other.

"Because, Bones, you are beautiful. And I can't seem to take my eyes off you, even if I try." I feel the heat of his free hand slide into place, palming my hip tenderly.

I think I've suddenly forgotten to breathe, unwilling to let this moment slip away unacknowledged, but uncertain of exactly what to do. I search his face, his chiseled features and his piercing gaze mesmerize me, nearly hypnotize me. As if being pulled by an invisible force, I lean further into him, bringing my left hand up to rest against his t-shirt covered pec. Unable to stop my next confession, I let the words flow without filter.

"I didn't like watching that other woman flirting with you, Booth. I disliked the way she was looking at you…" My mouth is nearly touching the masculine skin below his ear as I speak, and I can hear the huskiness in my voice, recognize it for what it is - pure, raw desire on aural display for my partner.

Nuzzling his nose into the loose hair on the side of my head, Booth groans a tiny chuckle. "Now you know how I feel almost every time we go out, Bones. Tonight was one of the worst, though, when that _yahoo _over there had the balls enough to approach you with the intention of coercing you to join him and his little pals at their boring-ass stag party."

He inhales, probably able to smell the faint remaining scent of my shampoo. A chill runs through my body as I feel his breath against my ear. I can't stifle the tiny mew that escapes my throat when I shiver. My entire being is reacting to the close proximity of his much larger, physiologically pleasing stature and I can feel his body-heat aggressively penetrating my own. My breathing pattern shallows.

"Hey Bones?" His gravelly voice invades my mind, causing my rapidly deteriorating vision to completely blur as as the movie projector in my imagination plays out one of the many repeat fantasies involving Alpha-Booth beating off an offending competitor vying for my affections.

"Hmm?" I don't trust my voice; I doubt my abilities to construct a coherent sentence if I chance to open my mouth. I rub my cheek lightly against his, savoring the rough texture of his afternoon stubble against my smooth face. I am blissfully unaware of the way the never-ending noise of our surroundings seems to have mellowed to a muted background-buzz as the sound of my own heartbeat fills my senses.

Pulling back only slightly, Booth's mouth drifts lower on my cheek as he bows his head. "I'm gonna kiss you now." The hand on my lower back pulls me firmly against his hard body and the open palm on my hip tightens its grip, crumpling my untucked shirttail trapped beneath his wide span.

All I can do was nod my permission as his heated eyes pull back and silently measure my reaction. I think a sigh of anticipation has escaped my throat, but I can't be absolutely certain. Somewhere in my subconscious, I fear that I may be trapped in a dream, close to being rudely awakened by the shrill sound of my alarm as is so often the case with these visions.

If I'm not mistaken, my eyes catch the beginnings of a cocky little smirk curling the edge of Booth's lips just before they crash against mine, but I don't mind; that tiny smile has haunted so many of my nights that I welcome it wholly. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I open my mouth beneath his, welcoming the silky warmth of his tongue against mine, I feel confident that the fog surrounding the confusing signals that I've been receiving for years is about to become unequivocally cleared. This is no dream, this is finally happening. I palm the nape of his neck holding him tight as he presses his whole body against mine. We don't even hear the wolf whistles that fill the room as acquaintances and strangers alike watch our new reality unfolding before their eyes.

**Postscript A/N**

**I hand-wrote this on a four-hour flight home from a mini-vacation and typed it up tonight after I finished working. Again, I'm not completely comfortable with first-person POV, but I keep trying to improve my ability to write it. I toyed with this piece a little more than others, because I moved the tense from present tense narration in the beginning, to past tense as Brennan thought about Booth's invasion of her lab earlier in the evening and then back to present tense once her mind is focused on the events unfolding in the bar. Did I succeed in this endeavor? **

**I own all my errors; as usual, I edit myself, so my apologies for inconsistencies. **

**I look forward to your thoughts. **

**peace &amp; love, **

**~jazzy**


	4. Mine

**A/N**

**Hello and welcome! Here is a tasty little morsel for the Ramblings collection. (well, I hope you think it's tasty, anyway.) **

**Yeah, it's Rated M. So, if you are someone who doesn't like Rated M content, or if you are too young to be reading mature themed stories, skip this chapter now. **

**Again, I stress that Ramblings is made up of randomly written snippets that are simply ramblings of my Muse's imagination. They are not related to one another, they are not chronological in order. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or its characters. I just enjoy playing with the characters. **

They stumbled through the door in a tangle of sopping-wet, drunken limbs, laughing between their mutually wandering lips and groping hands.

"I do believe," Brennan slurred, attempting to put on an air of sophistication, "that you have gotten me drunk, Agent Booth…" She purred as he pushed her against the closed door, imprisoning her between two sinewy and powerful arms. She licked her lips slowly, watching _him _watch _her _through ebony eyes. "You," she slid a single finger between two buttons of his soggy blue oxford and slid the top one open, "were upset by that man at the bar..." Brennan kept her voice quiet, whispering her words, knowing it drove him crazy on a primal level that he struggled to acknowledge.

Her breathy alto voice wormed its way into Booth's ears and he crowded her even more, pressing his long, hard body against hers. He lowered one veiny hand from where he'd planted it firmly against the door, directly beside his partner's ear, and cupped the soft, fleshy curve of her hip. The thick fingers of his other hand wove themselves into the silky wet hair that framed her face, pushing it back from her cheek. Wordlessly, he closed the minimal distance keeping them apart and covered her mouth with his. He couldn't verbalize how he felt about the man hitting on his girl without sounding like a possessive caveman, so he showed her instead.

Booth wedged his knee between hers, sliding his open palm from her hip to her outer thigh and cupping her in a tenacious grasp. He pressed his body against hers as he kissed his way from her mouth to her jawline until he reached the crook of her neck, sucking on her sweet skin. Brennan let her head fall back against the hardwood door, surrendering to his bodily manipulations. When she moved one hand to his chest again, fumbling to slip the next tiny opalescent disk through its corresponding hole, Booth knocked it away, grabbing her wrist and pinning her arm above her head.

"I don't _like _it when men hit on you, Bones," he growled against her pale neck. "You're _mine_." He rolled his pelvis against her, pressing his growing length into her lower abdomen. "And that prick, _that little bastard_, thought he was good enough to sidle up next to you as soon as I got up to take a leak?" His gravelly voice sent shivers of desire coursing through Brennan's entire being. He bit her neck gently then soothed it with a tender kiss. "And the _balls _to try to dismiss me when I came back to the table…." His aggression started to grow as he remembered the younger man trying to make a move on his intoxicated partner.

_Although Brennan was not interested in the stranger, she had been unable to deter the attention he was lavishing upon her. She and Booth had been doing shots of tequila, laughing as they recalled a night nearly a decade prior when they sat in the same dingy bar, at the same rickety table, challenging one another to similar shots just before he fired her. When her partner excused himself to use the restroom, he never even noticed the guy sitting at the bar admiring his girl, evidence enough that he was intoxicated to the point that his observational skills were impaired. The stranger's eyes followed Booth's movements as he disappeared down the short hallway that led back to the public restrooms. Once Booth was out of sight, the man, who would introduce himself as Eric, moved in on the wrong territory, carrying a drink in each hand as he approached the table uninvited._

"Booth," she struggled to intertwine her fingers with his. "You don't really believe that I would have been interested in that man, do you?"

He widened his finger span allowing her to connect with him as he continued to mark her neck. Pulling back to meet her gorgeously dilated eyes, he brought his free palm to the hollow of her back sandwiching it between her body and the door while he pulled her against him. "I trust you completely, Bones." His reply was deep, his voice husky with unsatisfied desire. "But I _don't _trust assholes who approach you _after _seeing that you're with me." He rotated against her heat again. "That sonofabitch _watched _me walk away from the table, he admitted as much, Bones." His eyes flared in possessive anger as his hand moved along her spine, pushing up her sodden t-shirt. "He fucking saw us together, and he _still _tried to make a move. What a fucking idiot, Bones… If he was smart at all, he would've feigned ignorance… but he didn't, he opened his stupid, arrogant, worthless mouth..."

There was a time in her life when Brennan would have spent every ounce of energy fighting the ownership tendencies that Booth displayed whenever someone paid too much attention to her. But as the partners grew in their relationship, the anthropologist found herself quite aroused in just such situations. She tilted her head to the opposite direction, exposing the other side of her neck to Booth as she watched him from beneath heavy lids.

"He only admitted to it because you came up from behind and slammed his face down to the table, Booth. You wouldn't release him until he fessed up... To _something...Anything_. You bullied him..."

"Would you have preferred me to drag a seat up on the other side of him and offer to buy him a beer? Invite him home with us?" He pinned her with a dark gaze, knowing she was just trying to egg him on.

"He may have turned out to be a very nice man, Booth... You two might've become good friends... I mean," she straightened her head and squared her shoulders, "you both obviously share similar tastes in women, seeing as how you both find me attractive." She smiled coyly. "At least I think that's what he meant when he told me I was the 'hottest piece of ass in the joint'." She watched as Booth's eyes darkened and, like a snowplow, she pressed on. "And anthropologically speaking, men of similar opinion tend to migrate towards one another so that they can discuss and compare-"

"Stop right there, Dr. Brennan..." Booth pressed against her, growling into her ear. "Don't you dare compare me with the sack of shit that was hitting on you." He nipped her playfully then tongued her lobe into his mouth, flicking it softly.

"But, Booth..." She argued, simply to push his metaphorical buttons.

"_But nothin'_, Bones," he warned. "That prick was after one thing and one thing only...And you know it..."

"Yes, I know," she played innocent. "A drink... He wanted to buy me a drink."

He craned his neck back and looked at her incredulously. "Wha-?..." Then he saw it- the little twinkle in telling him that she was still teasing. His dark brown eyes softened as he looked into her pale orbs, he felt all the aggression and dark possessiveness melt away.

"He wanted way more than a drink, Babe..." He moved both hands to her hips and then down to her thighs. With a gentle tug, he smiled as she complied to his silent command, and he relished the feeling as his partner, his lover, raised her legs up and wrapped them around his hips. "He wanted _you_, Temperance... He wanted _this_." Booth palmed her ass in both hands and thrust his aching erection against her core then turned around and carried her through his apartment, aiming for the bedroom. "He was hoping to score tonight... And I, sure as _hell, _wasn't gonna let that happen..."

When he reached the side of the bed, he lowered her legs carefully, holding his more-than-a-little-tipsy partner steady as she stood on her own.

Brennan remained motionless as Booth slid his hands beneath her shirt and pushed it upwards, clearly intent on disrobing her of the soaking material. She raised her arms and allowed him to pull the chilled garment from her body, leaving her shivering ever so slightly when the cool air of the apartment kissed her dampened skin.

"And," his voice was husky, his eyes hungry with possessive desire as they swept down her torso and back up again. "He wanted this..." His fingers slid beneath her bra straps and slowly pulled them down until the upper portions of the cups were rolling down, getting dangerously close to allowing her heaving breasts to spill from the flimsy material. "But no one," he craned his neck and pressed an open mouth kiss to the upper swell of her left breast. "Not another goddamn soul," his lips moved to her other side, "has the privilege to do this, Bones. No one touches you," he nipped and licked. "No one holds you." His hands spread around her rib cage and pressed into her flesh greedily. "No one kisses, or smells, or tastes you, ever again." One hand moved to the clasps of her bra and made quick work of undoing the hooks and eyes. "Just me, Baby. Only me..."

Brennan's head was spinning. The tequila and her partner's touch and words were all overwhelming her senses. "You're the only one I want, Booth. Yours are the only lips I want kissing me, the only hands I want touching me. Your body is the only one I want covering mine and making love to me." Brennan pressed her mouth to his neck as she finished unbuttoning his blue oxford. She bit gently and licked to soothe the sting as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders. "I've never let anyone else take me the way I've let you, Booth. And I never will."

Her declaration was all the foreplay he could handle in his partially inebriated state. Booth was quickly succumbing to the heart-pounding sensations of lust and desire for the only woman who could bring him to his knees with a single glance. Refusing to tame the tightly coiled alpha within, Booth hastily shoved the slacks from her hips and coaxed her down to his mattress, where he settled between her thighs as they fell open to him. Barely taking the time to push his own jeans any lower than was absolutely necessary, one swift rock of his hips had him right where he wanted to be - buried deep inside her wet heat, snugged perfectly within her tight walls.

"Mine... All mine..." He chanted in time with his thrusts, the alcohol in his blood stream making it impossible to stop the flow of sheer possessiveness. Pinning her hands against the mattress above her head, he drove into her with abandon, urged forward by her breathy moans and sighs of approval.

As Brennan felt the telltale signs of orgasm washing over her body, she opened her eyes to watch her partner's powerful body looming above hers. Recognizing the signals that Booth was nearing the edge as well, she did what she knew would cause him to leap head-first into the tailspin that she desperately wanted from him.

"Take me, Booth." Her abdomen started fluttering, her ears filled with the sounds of his primal grunts and she forced her thighs to open as wide as possible, pressing her knees to the sheets beneath. "Make me yours..." She arched her back off the bed, pressing against him completely.

Booth was unable to reign in his baser instinct and un_willing_ to tame the tightly coiled alpha that was quickly unraveling as he got lost in his woman. He released her hands and dropped to his elbows, cradling her head against the crook of his neck. He rolled his hips, meeting each of her responsive thrusts with a rhythm that the pair had perfected in their time as lovers. He knew what Brennan was doing by speaking those words, by submitting to the dominance that he tended to keep under tight wrap. After only a few more sharp thrusts, Booth could feel the familiar tugging at the base of his spine and he buried himself balls-deep as he nuzzled his nose into her damp hair where it spilled over her shoulder. "Bones…" He grunted and pressed into her harder, "c'mon, Baby… I need you to let go..."

The husky, needy urgency in his voice sent chills through her body. His warm breath against her shoulder, followed immediately by the combination of pleasure and pain as his teeth nipped her sensitive skin, was all it took to push her over the edge and she shattered beneath her partner. Brennan dug her fingers into the slick flesh of his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if she would become physically lost if she didn't maintain that contact. "Booth," her voice was breathy, his name dripped from her tongue like warm honey. She wrapped her calves around his legs, holding him tight as she, in turn, bit his shoulder gently and licked to ease the sting. "Cum for me…"

Pulling back, he slammed into her. Two, three, four times, each plunge harder and deeper than the one before, and with an animalistic grunt, Booth finally lost control of his barely contained restraint. "Fuuuuck, Bones…" He growled, suckling the pale skin of her throat as he emptied everything he had into her core in white hot flashes. He was purposely marking her, and the sheer fact that she rolled her head, exposing more of her neck to him, was the cherry on top.

"Oh, Babe…" He groaned in regret as he felt himself slowly slipping from her warmth. "Ahh…" He rolled to the side, sliding his arm beneath her shoulders and pulling her with him, tucking her against his chest. "Fuckin'-a, Bones…" He covered her hand where she'd splayed her fingers across the scar above his heart.

"Mmm…" Brennan pressed a kiss to his pec. "Aggressive-Booth is very arousing… You should lose control more often..."

He chuckled and pressed his lips into her messy hair as he palmed her ass playfully. "Bones," he warned gently, knowing that she knew very well that he was careful to _not _lose control very often.

"I'm just saying…" She shifted and rolled over his body, straddling his hips and laying down on his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. "You're very powerful, and I know you will always take care of me. And I find that simple truth to be sexually irresistible." She hummed when she felt his calloused hands run up and down along her sides and settle on her hips.

"You find me irresistible," he repeated smugly as he squeezed her soft flesh.

"Don't let it go to your head, Booth," she teased as she ran her fingers into his wild spikes and kissed his neck softly. Knowing that she was always safe with Booth to ultimately speak her mind, regardless of the implications indicated by her thoughts, she pressed up and looked into the soft brown eyes that had been comforting her for years. "I'm glad I'm your's, Booth." Her confession was whispered. "I'm happy to..._belong_…to you, in the metaphorical sense." Although she knew her partner would understand her meaning, the anthropologist inside still felt the need to quantify her statement.

Booth grinned up at her, his lips forming the crooked, boyish smile that told her how much he adored her whenever he flashed it. "I love you, Bones. I treasure what we have...and I love belonging to you, too, Baby."

Satisfied in her knowledge that Booth would never hold anything like that over her head in the negative sense, Brennan kissed him softly and nuzzled down, pulling in and sandwiching her arms securely between their bodies. When his strong arms wrapped around her protectively, she sighed heavily and sunk into his embrace, succumbing quickly to the sleepiness invading her entire being. The alcohol they'd ingested at the bar coupled with the intensity of their passion was a strong combination forcing her mind and body into a happy oblivion.

As he felt her weight growing heavier against him, Booth smoothed his hands up and down the silky skin of her back, whispering words meant only for lovers, making promises to cherish her and the trust she'd bestowed upon him. Once the agent knew his partner was sound, he pulled the corner of the sheet up, dragging it over their intertwined bodies and followed her into sleep. Over the course of the night, they moved in tandem, always maintaining contact, hands subconsciously sweeping over skin, bodies wrapping around each other.

By the time the early morning sun was peeking through the slats of the window's blinds, Booth was curled around Brennan's body, her bottom pressing deliciously against his groin as his hand splayed across her tummy. He tightened his arm, pulling her tighter to his chest as he pressed a kiss to the back of her head. "I love waking up with you, Baby."

"Mmm," she wasn't ready to talk, but she couldn't deny her own satisfaction of feeling his long hard body behind hers as she made that daily journey from the land of sleep and back into consciousness. Reaching back, Brennan rubbed her hand along his strong thigh. With a playful squeeze, she muttered one word that immediately set his body thrumming. "Mine… "

"All yours, Baby." He nudged his knee between hers and slid his hand lower. "For the rest of our lives…"

**Postscript A/N **

**So, I hope you enjoyed. There's something so friggin' hot about Possessive and Aggressive Booth, in my opinion. And there's something even hotter at the notion that Brennan, a rational and logical scientist, would simply surrender to his need to dominate from time to time. I don't believe that she would _always_ submit to him, but in instances like this, I think she recognizes the mutual benefits they both reap from his alpha-tendencies. **

**Please let me know what you thought. I look forward to hearing from you!**

**peace, my friends**

**~jazzy **


	5. The Meeting

**A/N Hello there!**

**So, I sat down with the JazzyMuse with the intent to work on either DPO or WTT, but she had something else entirely in mind, and this is the result. A little something extra for 'Ramblings'. It's short, but I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed… I still own nothing. **

"What are you doing, Booth?" Brennan frowned at the glaringly bright light at she walked sleepily into the kitchen, where she found Booth hunched over the tiny table tucked against the side wall. "Why are you out here?"

The grumble in her voice told her partner she wasn't happy about waking up alone and he placed the pen down atop the forms he'd been reviewing and stood up to greet her. "I'm sorry, baby," he pulled her close, grinning inwardly at the petulant pout that had overtaken her pretty face. "I didn't mean to wake you." He pressed a kiss into her bed-mussed hair and smoothed his hands down the silky material of the skimpy tank top she had pulled on when she left the bed in search of him.

"_Why_ are you awake? It's very _late_, Booth… Or very early, to be more precise." The uncharacteristic whine in her voice told him that he wasn't yet forgiven for abandoning the warmth of their covers, but that she was still willing to listen to his justification.

"I know it's late, Bones." Another kiss was pressed against her temple before he pulled back to look down into her sleepy eyes. Knowing that she typically slept like a log most nights after such intense love making as they had done earlier in the night, he was more curious about why _she _was not still sleeping. "Why are _you _awake?"

Snuggling against his bare chest, the anthropologist wrapped her arms lazily around Booth's waist. Her hands came to rest just below the waistband of his boxers, feeling his strong glutes beneath her fingertips. "Hhmmm…. _Because…_." she pressed a kiss against his warm skin. "My partner was not where he was _supposed _to be when I woke up reaching for him." Her disapproval was evident in her growl, but he could feel the apples of her cheeks rise into a smile where she was pressed against the front of his shoulder.

Booth chuckled and ran his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, dragging his fingers lightly across the small of her back, pausing for a split second to circle one back-dimple before dragging across to the other. "I didn't mean to wake you, Babe."

"I know," she responded honestly as she pulled back and looked up at her partner. "But what's wrong, Booth?" She knew that Booth wouldn't normally leave the warmth of their covers unless something was troubling him.

Releasing his hold on his partner, Booth reached up and palmed the back of his neck, a blatant indicator to Brennan that he was nervous about something. "Nah…" he stalled. "Nothing's really _wrong_…. Not exactly, anyway." He picked up the paperwork and reviewed his notes. "I was just going over this," he held up a legal pad of notes and eyed her cautiously. "It's, y'know, the bullet points for my meeting with Cullen and Hacker." He took a deep breath and looked back down at his scrawled handwriting. "I mean, I know I have everything I need, you know," he tapped his own temple, "up here… I just don't want to say anything wrong that would," he shrugged, "I dunno, sabotage what we have…" He looked back at his partner and sighed silently.

Booth was normally a very sure, confident agent, not easily unnerved about anything. But the meeting that was scheduled for first thing in the morning had him rattled to the core. "Booth," she stepped forward, wanting to comfort him, but uncertain of how. "Would you like me to accompany you to the meeting tomorrow morning?"

"No, Bones. You have a lot of work to do; I know you're working on that big museum-unveiling-display-thing…"

"It's a Viking _**exhibit**_, Booth..." She became instantly excited, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. "I believe that even you will enjoy this exhibit, Booth. We are recreating a battle scene that —"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I said…" He waved off her contradiction and subsequent squinty rant about the _exhibit_. "Anyway, this meeting… This is something _I_ need to do. And I'm _pretty_ certain we won't have any negative backlash, but still…"

"Are you worried about Hacker's reaction to our relationship, Booth?"

Booth studied the emotions and expressions crossing her face. She hit the nail on the head. "Well, a little... I mean, I know we'll have Cullen's support," he reached out and took her hand in his. His lips curled up on one side. "You really won him over, Bones... He likes you a lot. But he's gonna be retiring this year and I'll be left working directly under Hacker. And frankly, Hacker took it pretty hard when you refused him once and for all that last time he asked you out." He slumped down onto the bar stool at his table and pulled Brennan to stand between his parted thighs, settling his palms on her hips. "I just don't want anything to happen to our partnership. If he's in a shit mood in the morning, he might take it all _very_ _personally_ and that could blow up in our faces."

"Well," she draped her arms over his wide shoulders. "I told you before, Booth, and I'll tell you again…. I won't work with any other agents." She tipped her nose ever-so-slightly into the air. "I've _always_ said that. Even before we became lovers." She smiled a little when she saw her partner's smirk at the description of them as 'lovers'. Running her fingers against the straight edge of his hairline, she continued. "Nothing has changed, Booth. I simply won't continue to work with the FBI if they try to break up our partnership."

"Bones," he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against the side of her neck. "You understand, don't you, that the contract is between the FBI and the _Jeffersonian_? It's not actually between the FBI and _you… _If they remove me as the official liaison, you will have to work with whoever they appoint..." He tugged her impossibly closer, running both his hands up the back of her shirt, pushing it up as he moved. "But I appreciate your sentiment, Baby."

She paused to enjoy the feeling of his roughened hands against her body, but then refocused. "No, Booth. I'm serious. If they assign a different agent, I will return to my work on ancient remains, and Dr. Edison can be reassigned to work with the FBI. He's more than capable."

The agent looked up adoringly from his seat, appreciating his partner more than ever. "That means a lot, Bones."

"Well," she took on a snooty air, "you tell Cullen that if he tries anything like that, they'll be losing the best team the FBI has ever seen."

Booth burst out laughing, "Um, yeah, I don't think so, Bones. I am not going to blackmail my bosses in order to get what I want."

"What?" She dropped her hands and pulled back, looking at him in disbelief and appall. "But _why_? It worked for me! I blackmailed _you _in order to go out into the field…. Wait, would you rather _I_ do the blackmailing?"

"Wait, what? No way, Bones," Booth laughed and pulled her back into position between his legs as he sat. "No one is blackmailing anyone. We'll just see how it goes, ok?" He started to nuzzle against her neck, sneaking tastes of her skin in between kisses. "I should have told them right away," he nipped playfully at her earlobe. "But I just didn't want us to lose this time together. I wanted us to have our time in private to figure everything out, y'know?"

Brennan let her head fall to the side, allowing Booth better access to the smooth column of skin that she knew he liked. "Mmm-hmm…" She flexed her fingers into his biceps, holding him firmly as his lips continued their assault on her cognitive abilities. "We had to…figure it out… yeah," she breathed into the quiet of the apartment, completely succumbing to his spell, as she'd been doing for the past five weeks.

"But you know what else, Bones?" Booth switched sides, moving his lips along the sweet skin that had been ignored thus far, giving it the same treatment as it's counterpart had received.

"Hmm?" She started to lean forward, pressing into his grasp even more than before.

"No matter what happens, I'll always love you." He pulled back and brought one hand to cup her cheek until he was certain she was listening to him. "Even if they split us up, I'm still going to come home to you every night," he dropped a kiss on the corner of her slightly-parted lips. "And I'm still going to wake up with you every morning," another kiss on the opposite side. "And at lunch time, I'm going to come to the lab and drag you, kicking and screaming, out to the diner for food," he kissed her nose. "And in between all that, I'm still going to make love to you every chance I get, and show you how much you mean to me, and I'll do my damnedest to never _ever _do anything to make you regret our relationship." He captured her mouth in a hungry kiss, his baser instincts taking over as he felt her nipples stiffen behind the silky material of her tank top that was pressed against his body.

"Let's go back to bed, Booth," she started pulling him gently. "I think right _now _falls into the 'in-between' that you just mentioned…" Her lips grasped at his, pulling them into her mouth and swiping her tongue over the slightly chapped skin that he always seemed to have.

Standing to his full height, Booth picked his partner up bridal-style and carried her swiftly through the apartment, loving the feeling of her lips on his neck as they moved. "You know what? I think you're right…" He placed her gently in the center of his bed, _their bed_, before lowering himself to cover her body completely. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up, Baby…" He inhaled deeply at the juncture where her shoulder and neck met. "But I promise to be here when you wake up later this morning," he wove his fingers between hers and pulled her hands up over her head, pressing them into the softness of the pillow. "For now, though, I can think of better ways to fill this _in-between-time_ than studying bullet-points that I already know by heart… Besides," he released one of her hands so he could finish pushing the flimsy shirt up her body, "no matter what happens tomorrow morning, this is still ours. You and I are the center, Bones," he pressed open mouthed kisses across her torso, just below the plump bottom swells of her breasts, "and we will hold, Baby."

**Postscript A/N **

**So, I hope it wasn't too boring, but I imagine that although Booth is typically cock-sure almost to the point of arrogance, the mere idea that he could lose his partnership with Brennan would have unnerved him at least a little bit. So, that's my take on how the night before his big Meeting could have gone. **

**Please let me know your thoughts.**

**peace &amp; love, my friends**

**~jazzy**


	6. That Night

**A/N Hello and welcome back! There have been plenty of other takes on this particular event, but this idea infiltrated the JazzyMuse's mind and it wouldn't leave until I wrote it. I hope you don't mind the timeframe, and I hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Sadly.**

"I got into bed with Booth last night." Brennan felt a conflict of emotions battling inside her chest. She felt heartache over the loss of Vincent Nigel-Murray warring with the arousing memory of Booth's calloused palms sweeping along the length of her body. She fought against her concern for Booth's safety as she struggled to find the key piece of evidence that would bring him home to her that night - preferably completely unharmed. She battled against the desire to keep their early morning promises to herself, to relish in the metaphoric afterglow just a little longer, versus sharing the news with her best friend.

The need to share won.

And she waited for Angela to react, but her best friend stood across the table from her, silently stoic. The apparent lack of interest displayed by the artist unnerved the anthropologist.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Now she felt uncomfortable. She suddenly feared she was making a mistake by disclosing her and Booth's privacy, and that her friend, who had long ago admitted to giving up all hope and stopped pressuring her to take the plunge with Booth, had ultimately disapproved of the newest development. Brennan shifted her weight awkwardly, worried that, in her hasty decision to tell Angela, she had not only jeopardized her partner's trust, but deceived her best friend by doing the one thing that she'd fought against for seven long years.

Angela sputtered. "B-b-because I don't want to yell '_Hallelujah_!' so close to losing Vincent!"

Brennan eyed her in confusion, uncertain of Angela's meaning. "I think I did it _because _of Vincent…"

"Wha-" Angela inhaled sharply. "What exactly happened when you _crawled_ into bed with Booth?"

The burst of angry fire that was spurred on by Hodgins' unwelcome and poorly-timed interruption was quickly extinguished as the artist sent her husband away with a sharp lash of the tongue and hasty point of her long, manicured finger. When the woman refocused her dark eyes on Brennan, she dared to let the corner or her mouth curl in anticipation.

"Bren?" Angela stepped slowly around the examination table until she was face to face with her longtime friend. "Tell me this" she pointed to Brennan's soft grin and glowing cheeks, "isn't some figment of my imagination... Tell me you got into bed with Booth for the one and only sane reason any red-blooded woman would crawl into bed with that hunk of yummy FBI flesh and bone..."

"Well," the anthropologist began quietly, the memory of her and Booth's early morning confessions was filling her body with blossoming, intense heat. She looked down at her hands and then back up to her friend's gaze. "I..."

_Where should I begin_, she wondered. _Do I tell Ange __**why**_ _I crept into Booth's room just as his clock turned 4:47 this morning? Or should I just tell her what the end result was?_ _Will she be disappointed in me if I tell her that we only talked? Well… _she thought with a graceful smile..._We kissed and caressed, too…. but ultimately we talked..._

She sighed happily in final decision and tilted her head. "As you know, Booth insisted that I stay at his apartment last night; he was worried that Broadsky would come after me once news reached him that Booth was safe." When Angela's eyes lit up, Brennan pinned her with a serious stare. "I slept on the couch... Well, I made a bed on the couch, but I couldn't sleep. I finally went to Booth after tossing and turning for hours. I had questions that I knew only he would be able to answer for me..." She thought about his words of comfort, his attempts to help her come to terms with losing Vincent. "I just..." She fumbled for the right words to summarize what had happened. "He... Well, _we_..." She studied her own wringing fingers for several silent seconds until Angela's slim hand came to settle over them.

"Sweetie," she smiled adoringly. "You don't have to say anything. It's ok." She met Brennan's crystalline blues as they darted up to meet hers. "Just tell me one thing... Are you happy?"

"I care a great deal for Booth, Angela." Brennan felt a wave of peace wash over her body. "And now I know, without a shadow of doubt, that he cares a lot about me, too." Her gentle smile grew exponentially. "I am _very_ happy."

The emotional artist pulled her friend into a crushing brace. "That's all that matters to me, Brennan. I just want to see you happy." Angela was elated for her friend and hugged her once again. "Don't get me wrong," she chuckled, "I _do _expect details, Bren. But they can wait." She pulled back and nodded to the skeletal remains on the table. "Right now, you have clues to uncover and I have a husband who is probably off in a corner licking his wounds... I had better go find out what was so urgent."

"Ange?" Brennan had only one request. "Please, just…" she licked her lips nervously. "Let Booth and me decide when people find out, alright? Please don't say anything to anyone, well, except Hodgins… I know you will have to be honest with your husband."

"Of course, Sweetie. I would never spoil your news." She winked and made a quick exit, in search of Jack and whatever news he was anxious to share before she'd forcibly expelled him from the Bone Room.

The afternoon was painfully slow for the entire squint squad, but everyone knew the worst agony was experienced by Brennan while she waited for word from Booth. She had warned her partner of Broadsky's broken hand, with the help of Hodgins' translations. All they could do after that was wait until word reached the lab. Once nothing else could be learned from the evidence scattered in the various rooms throughout the Medico-Legal Lab, the team gathered in the employee lounge under the false pretenses of relaxing.

The drone of idle conversation faded into the background and morphed into nothing more than white noise as Brennan got lost in her mind, thinking about Booth and the revelations that came into the light in the dark hours of morning.

"_Can I just-" She nodded at Booth's shoulder, hoping her partner would let her lean on him, not only emotionally, but physically. _

"_Yeah," he didn't hesitate, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. Booth was still exhausted, having only just fallen into a restless sleep shortly before she cracked his door open. But he wouldn't deny his partner the comfort she so obviously needed. He leaned back against his pillows, taking her with him. "It's hard, I know…" He spoke quietly, wanting her to understand that he knew what she was feeling, and that she wasn't alone in her struggle to cope. "Shh…" He made large, soothing circles across her back, his calloused palm catching slightly on the soft material of his well-worn sweatshirt that, from that night forward, would forever be hers. _

_Brennan's hot tears fell quietly onto his shoulder, soaking through the thin material of his dark shirt quickly. When she started to lose control of her carefully constructed composure, the scientist began to gasp involuntarily as the sobs wracked her body. _

_"Bones," Booth spoke against her hair, pressing a kiss into the sweet-smelling tresses. "Breathe... Shhh... It'll be ok." _

_"What if..." She couldn't finish the statement. She couldn't say the words out loud... Saying them aloud would only serve to make them more real...more possible. "What..." She choked again and fisted his shirt tightly, pressing her face into his chest and simply inhaling him, willing her imagination to cease with the horrific images of what could have happened if her partner had answered the phone instead. _

_"Shh..." Without permission his lips formed another kiss, and then another, dropping them on top of her head, against her temple, onto her smooth forehead. "Don't, Bones. Don't think about that. It won't help." He, too, had been plagued by the unyielding nag of '_what if I'd handed my phone to Bones?_' But he was accustomed to dealing with 'what if' scenarios after losing so many comrades. He didn't want his emotionally fragile partner to be troubled with such thoughts, though. "Shh..." He whispered against her once again. "I'm right here... You're right here... Everything's gonna be ok, Temperance. It might not feel like it at the moment, but we'll get through this." Another kiss. "I promise you, Bones, we can deal with this." His nose buried itself in her hair. "Together." _

_Brennan felt herself being lulled by the deep rumble and familiar timbre of Booth's early-morning voice, his warm and comforting embrace, his quiet strength and whispered reassurances. She felt his mouth pressing softly against her as he spoke, and she suddenly knew there was no place else on earth she would rather be. His declarations reassuringly natural and Brennan knew she could trust anything he told her. This was where she was supposed to be. This was where she belonged. _

_She suddenly wanted more. _

_She wanted to hear more... To feel more... To say more... To do more..._

_Brennan turned her teary, red-rimmed eyes up to her partner, pushing herself up on one elbow and studied his concerned face. She let her bright blues skip across his chiseled features before they settled on the dark chocolates that she had, over their years together, learned to adore more than she ever admitted. Releasing the tight grip she had on his t-shirt, Brennan brought her cool palm up to his cheek and rested it against his masculine skin lightly. _

_"Booth," she searched his compassionate eyes for understanding of her unspoken thoughts and was certain she found comprehension. "When Cam said it, I didn't want to think about it. I **couldn't** think about it..." _

_He nodded, knowing to what she was referring. "It's ok, Bones." _

_She shook her head gently in response. "No, it's not." Her fingers started to stroke his cheek lightly, following the line of his distinctive zygomatic bone. "That bullet was meant to kill you, Booth... It could have so easily been you bleeding out on that floor today..." She didn't even try to stop the tears, but she wasn't sobbing. She was finally allowing the emotions to just flow through her. "As devastated as I am about Mr. Nigel-Murray, I would have been destroyed if it had been you..." She watched as his prominent Adam's Apple bobbed when he swallowed and leaned into her palm ever so slightly. _

_"It could have just as easily been you, Bones. And it almost was." He tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear and smiled up at her sadly. "The only reason I handed the phone to Vincent, and not to you, was because he was closer and I was preoccupied with getting Angela's app running on my other phone... My first instinct had been to hand the phone to you... You're my partner..." He fought his own emotions at the thought of his Bones bleeding to death beneath his fingers. "Visions of losing you flooded my mind all afternoon... I don't know what I would've done, Bones. But I do know this," he trailed his finger along her jaw tenderly. "As much as I hate that Vincent died today, and as much as I fucking hate Broadsky for the hell he's putting you through by taking away your squint, I can't help but be thankful that you were standing on the opposite end of that table." He swallowed thickly. "And I'm gonna get that sonofabitch, and he's gonna pay for hurting you like this." _

_"Booth..." Her head tilted and she met his gaze with a determination that spoke volumes. "We've wasted so much time..."_

_"Yeah." He watched as his fingertips traced the soft skin of her cheek. "Today was too close, Bones." _

_"I can't lose you..." She was both terrified and ready, unsure of which feeling would prove stronger. _

_"You won't." There was an unwavering conviction in his statement that made her trust him. "I'll always be right here, Bones..." His thick forefinger moved to her mouth, outlining the soft shape of her lips. "There's no place else I ever wanna be... If you'll have me..." _

_She couldn't respond. _

_She could barely breathe. _

_But she knew she wanted him. And now she knew he wanted her, too. "I'm so sorry it took me so long, Booth..." She lowered her face, pressing her lips against his, moaning when he pressed back._

_Feeling the need to deepen the kiss after only seconds of commencing, Booth threaded his fingers into her silky hair until he was palming the back of her head. He probed gently with his tongue until her sweet lips parted, welcoming him into the warmth of her mouth. While becoming reacquainted with the spicy taste that was very uniquely 'Bones', he pushed himself up and effectively maneuvered her until she was on her back and he was at her side, hovering over her at an angle. As he settled her head against the long-vacant pillow, he pushed up and looked into her pale eyes. _

_"I don't want you to be sorry, Bones. But I want you to be certain that this..." he motioned between them, unable to stop his lips from pecking against hers just once. "That __**I**_ _am what you want..." His dark orbs bore into her. "Because God knows, you're the only one I want..."_

_Reaching up with both hands, the anthropologist cradled her partner's face. "I am certain, Booth... I want this..." She couldn't stop the smile from spreading. "I want you…"_

_Booth's mouth crashed against hers, groaning at her taste once again. His hand swept beneath the hem of the over-sized sweatshirt, sliding along Brennan's spine from the small of her back up to the smooth hollow between her shoulders. He rolled until she was beneath him and his mouth nibbled along her jaw. _

_A quick glance at his bedside clock told him that the alarm would be buzzing within twenty minutes and he inwardly groaned in disagreement while turning his full attention back to the sweet skin of his partner's throat. "We don't have enough time, Bones," he muttered. "But I just need to..." his wide hands completed his thoughts as they swept up her body, pushing the grey shirt out of his way and revealing a gorgeous plane of milky skin to his vision..._

The chime of Brennan's phone shattered her silent musings and interrupted the mindless murmurs of her friends. She jumped, nearly falling out of her seat as she grabbed the device from the tabletop.

"Brennan."

"_Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth asked me to contact you, he is fine but unable to call right now. Broadsky has been apprehended. He has to process the prisoner, but said to tell you that you should go home because it's been a long day. He will call you as soon as he can, and he would like to see you later." _Shaw's tight mid-western accent was clear and concise, and her delivery of Booth's message was unquestionably verbatim. Then she added something that Brennan was certain was simply the young agent's input. "_It'll probably be a couple hours, Dr. Brennan, you know, there's a ton of paperwork that he's gonna have to sign before he can leave."_

"Yes, I understand." Brennan managed to maintain her composure, though she was battling against the simultaneous urges of crying, laughing, cheering, and collapsing into an exhausted heap. "Thank you." She disconnected the call and turned to face her friends and colleagues. "Booth got Broadsky." She smiled broadly as the cheers erupted around her, and she watched her friends embrace one another. When her tearful eyes met Angela's glance across the minimal distance, the artist mirrored her smile.

"Ok, people," Cam finally reined control and called for their attention. "Listen. I want you all to go home, get some rest. Take tomorrow off." She looked around at the small gathering of extended family. "I am going to make the necessary phone calls and arrange for Vincent's return back to England." She swallowed thickly at the daunting task before her, but she put on a brave face and met each gaze in turn. "How about we all reconvene back here tomorrow evening? We'll give Mr. Nigel-Murray a proper send-off."

Everyone agreed and the gathering slowly dispersed. Angela pulled Brennan into a tight hug. "Love you, Sweetie," she whispered softly. When she pulled back, she held her friend at arm's length. "Do you need a ride home?"

Brennan shook her head. "No thank you, Angela." She smiled at her best friend. "I think I'm going to stop at the store for a few things on my way home."

B/B/B/B

Once the anthropologist had procured the necessary ingredients from the grocery store, she made a hasty detour in the opposite direction of her apartment. Letting herself into his apartment using her emergency key, Brennan inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of Booth that surrounded her as she entered his apartment. Placing her grocery bags on the kitchen island, she turned and surveyed the living room silently. The room was much smaller than her own living room, and far more cluttered, but Brennan realized in that instant, that Booth's home was much warmer and far more welcoming than her own. It had an obvious lived-in quality and all the classic tell-tale signs of a bachelor's apartment.

Sports and military memorabilia filled his walls, interspersed with framed photographs, while an eclectic collection of books filled his shelves in no particular order. She smiled at the toy box in the far corner, knowing that the youthful toys that had once filled it to the brim had, in recent years, been replaced with more advanced remote control cars and extra sports equipment used by Parker when he stayed with Booth on the weekends. Her gaze shifted to the Vet Stadium seats settled at the other end of the room and she sighed at the memory of that day, knowing that the dates they'd burned that night were now inconsequential, as they'd finally owned up to their feelings for one another.

Snapping out of her daydream, she about-faced into the kitchen, determined to have a hot meal ready for Booth for when he arrived home. The situation with Broadsky had been particularly hard on her partner, and Brennan knew he was tired; he deserved, at the very least, a good dinner. The domesticity of her decision was not lost on the anthropologist, but until she had more time to herself, to analyze those actions, she decided to push the thought from her mind and focus all her energies on her partner's well-being.

As she pulled ingredients out of bags and combined the right measurements, Brennan realized that, while perfectly competent in the kitchen for herself, now that she and Booth would likely be sharing more meals at one of their apartments, she would have to learn additional recipes of favorite 'comfort foods' for her partner. She hoped that he hadn't grown tired of her macaroni and cheese yet, but just in case, she decided to use a different combination of cheeses than was typical, and at the last minute, opted to add a splash of Worcestershire Sauce as well.

Once the crocks were in the oven baking and the beer was cooling in the fridge, Brennan frowned at the realization that she'd spilled the dark sauce down the front of her shirt, so she went in search of something else to wear so she could soak the stain before it set. Finding the discarded sweatshirt she'd worn the night before crumpled and hanging off the edge of the still-unmade bed, she donned it and set her work blouse to soak in the bathroom sink. After confiscating a pair of sweatpants and a soft pair of socks, she turned her attention back out to the living room, where she proceeded to fold the blankets and sheets that remained twisted and knotted from her sleepless night.

When her phone chirped with an incoming text, she anxiously pulled it from her bag to see the message.

_Bones, finally done. Gonna stop my apt 2change. Want dinner? Im starving. pick u up in 20?_

_Glad you're done. Yes. See you soon. _

Trusting that he wouldn't mind that she let herself into his home, and subsequently helped herself to the kitchen and his clothing, she sat on the couch and waited as patiently as possible, unable to stop her leg from bouncing in nervous anticipation.

That night, if things went well, was going to be a turning point for the partners. And after years of running from her feelings and avoiding any sort of monogamous entanglement, Brennan finally realized she was ready to cross that line with Booth. He was the one person in her life that she knew she could trust with her metaphoric heart.

And she would give him everything, because that's what a man like Booth deserved.

**Postscript A/N **

**So, it wasn't much, but as I said, I had to write it because it was worming its way through my JazzyMuse brain and wouldn't go away until I agreed to type it :) **

**Looking forward to hearing your thoughts; you know what to do.**

**Thanks to all of you who have favorited and/or followed my stories, I really appreciate it. When you take time to review, follow, fave, etc, it tells us that people out there are still reading, which helps the muse in every writer want to write a little more. **

**peace and love, my friends, **

**~jazzy **


	7. Learning the Truth

**A/N. Hello there! So I have been working on editing my next chapter of Aggregation and realized that I needed to make my fic folder a little more organized because I was having to scroll through document after document to get to the one I needed. Lo and behold, I came across this chapter of Ramblings that never made it to posting! As I said previously, not every chapter in this little series is in chronological order, but they are little tidbits that JazzyMuse comes up with a random. I know it's been a long while since I posted anything in this collection, but you know, real life often gets in the way. I hope you like this anyway! Oh, and for those of you who are reading Aggregation, fear not, the next chapter is almost finished my edit process!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and make zero dollars for my little tales. The only forms of payment I ever receive are the generous reviews left by you all! **

He paced leisurely around her apartment, waiting for her to finish getting ready. He could hear her movements from down the hall, the hair dryer turning off, the closet door opening and closing… He knew she would be out shortly. Checking his watch, he nodded, telling himself they had plenty of time to make the reservation, there was no need to rush.

It had been a while since he roamed the meticulously organized rooms, and he chuckled at the way she had all of her ancient artifacts labeled, as if it were a museum. The item name, it's purpose, estimated age, what region or regions it could be found in and finally where and when she unearthed it. She would probably never change… She would always have a touch of that OCD she had inherited from somewhere along the family tree.

Moving over to peruse her bookshelves, he felt a frown beginning to form across his forehead. There were far more framed photos than he had ever seen in her apartment… And much to his grumbling dismay, nearly all of them contained _him_... her partner…. _That Feeb_… His eyes traveled along the long, built in shelves that served as the divider wall between the dining and living rooms. Frame after frame, Booth stared back at him… The agent's toothy smile and animated eyes taunting him…. And when it wasn't Booth, it was something similar pertaining to their work… Pictures of her team of geniuses, shots of their weird-ass nerdy parties held at the lab, complete with Erlenmeyer flasks of what appeared to be moonshine… Action shots of a kid he could only surmise was Booth's boy… A photo from a formal function where she was dressed to the nines and obviously escorted by a _tuxedo-clad-Booth…_ A picnic in a park, obviously attended alongside _Booth_ and his kid…

That damn cop seemed to be everywhere in the apartment, now that he took notice… A jacket hanging by the door… A Flyers throw pillow prominently placed in the center of the couch… _What the fuck…?_

He could hear the clickety-clack of her heels clipping on the hardwood floor as she approached the main living area from her room. When he looked up, she was just straightening an earring and tucking a loose lock of hair behind the same ear. Smiling, she greeted him with a loose hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry to keep you waiting…" She was rifling through her bag to ensure she had everything she needed for the evening. "I got held up at the lab… A last minute delivery arrived and I had to get the interns assigned to it…" Raising her pale eyes again, she nodded. "So are you ready?"

Feeling like he was in some sort of warped reality, after not seeing her home or its contents for many, many months, he glanced back at the shelves and gestured with his hand.

"What the hell is all this, Tempe?" He shook his head. "I mean, you said you were only partners…" He picked up one of the shots, apparently taken without them knowing, as they danced at the same formal where she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in attendance. "But this…. This is no _partnerly_ dance…" He replaced the photo and picked up one of Parker. "And for crying out loud, you have more shots of _him_ up here than you do of your own nieces!" He shook his head, raking his eyes once more across the shelves. "If you think I'm gonna sit through dinner with you and listen to stories about _Booth…_" His words died down as she approached.

Stiffening at the sudden third degree, Brennan's defenses went up immediately. Grabbing Parker's school picture from his hands, she placed it back in its place, diverting momentarily to also straighten the one of her and Booth dancing, which he didn't put back in the right spot.

"Listen, _you_ called _me_ and asked if I wanted to have dinner while you were in town." She turned her stormy blues back, meeting his with unwavering strength. "You don't have the right to come into my home and demand answers like this… Not when you barely keep contact with me any other time." Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin defiantly. "My life is my own, Russ. And you have no right to judge me."

"He's a fuckin' cop, Tempe! A _cop_!" He couldn't believe his sister was becoming more involved with her partner… Their father had voiced his speculations and suspicions recently, but Russ had refused to believe it. Not _his_ sister… Not _Tempe…_ She wouldn't be charmed by this goddamn feeb… Not after he went off to Afghanistan and brought home a model-like friggin' journalist to flaunt in everyone's face… _No way_, he told his dad… _Tempe's too smart. _But now… Seeing all this evidence on display, he could only shake his head in denial.

"He arrested dad, for Christ's sake!" Russ threw his hands up in disbelief.

"Booth said Dad wanted to be arrested," she answered quietly. "Subconsciously, he needed to be arrested so he could stay near me…"

"That's bullshit, and you know it! That's just your _partner's_ way of justifying that he was a big enough prick to arrest our dad!" He ground his molars together. "To make himself feel better about himself…"

"That's not true! He _hated_ justifying at dad's hearing!" Her eyes flamed as her nostrils flared.

"Yeah right! What a line of crap!" Russ couldn't believe that his little sister had actually fallen for her partner… The guy who had been nothing but a thorn in their sides since entering her life...

"_And_," she clenched her teeth. "He got your sentence reduced _tremendously_ when you were arrested!"

"Yeah, after _he_ arrested _me_ too!"

"You came to him willingly… Knowing that if he saw you, he would arrest you."

"He lied! He told Dad he wasn't going to arrest me. That I needed to come up for Haley, that she was sick!"

"She _was_ sick! And he didn't lie, Russ!" She was hollering now. "_Dad did!_ Booth never said he would look the other way! _Never_!" She stamped her foot. "That was all dad's idea to get to you… So you would come back to Haley." Feeling her fury building even more at her brother's ungrateful memory, she reminded him. "And, he took you to the hospital and let you see your little girl before hauling your ass off to jail where you belonged! He didn't have to do that, you know! He didn't have to be nice!"

Feeling his blood boil, he clenched his jaw. "He only did it because he wanted to get into your pants." Russ could barely believe his own ears as the words growled from his mouth without permission…

Not willing to take this kind of treatment from her own flesh and blood, Brennan reared her fist back, and before she knew it, her knuckles were making a firm connection with her big brother's nose, sending him backwards, where he landed squarely on his ass in front of the shelving. The unmistakable sound of a broken nose echoed through the silence of the room as they both stared at each other in disbelief.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Russ brought his hand up to his face, feeling the blood drip past his upper lip and down onto his shirt.

"You broke my nose…" His words were quiet, like he couldn't even trust that what he was saying was real. But then the pain seared through his head and he gingerly pinched the fractured bridge of his nasal appendage. "You broke my fucking nose!" This time he yelled, but he immediately regretted the volume as his voice rattled around in his head.

Shocked at her own actions, Brennan stood still, frozen in dumbfounded surprise. She hadn't planned to actually hit him… Not really hard, anyway… She had briefly envisioned herself knocking his shoulder firmly… Enough to get his attention and make him stop ranting about Booth… But she hadn't done that… She didn't simply pinch his shoulder or his chest or even his gut… She took aim and she swung… Before he could even blink at her movements.

"I…." A wrinkle marred her brow. She licked her lips nervously. "Umm…"

The sound of keys in the front door drew her attention just as Booth entered, carrying a to-go bag from the diner over one wrist and balancing his soda cup atop his briefcase in the other hand. Surprised to see his girl standing in the dining room, he smiled, dropping a folded paper bag from the bakery from between his teeth into his key-handling hand.

"Hey, Bones. I thought you'd be gone by now." He pushed the door closed with his foot and placed his bag on the entryway table so he could grab his drink before it spilled. "What's up, Russ running late?" He turned back around and faced her, his smile fading quickly when he saw her pale features waver.

"Bones?" He emptied the rest of his load to the floor and moved towards her just as she pointed blindly and silently towards the floor behind the bookcases, from where he heard a groan. Immediately at fear of an intruder, Booth pulled his weapon from its holster and circled the corner of the room, ready to knock out whoever had put such a look of fear in his partner's face.

"Wha-" His head cocked to the side as he replaced his weapon, seeing Russ with his head tilted back, trying to stop a profuse nosebleed.

"She broke my fucking nose!" Russ's voice was strained and nasally. "She _hit_ me!"

Brennan, still stunned in silence at her own actions, opened and closed her mouth, like a fish out of water gasping for air, unable to form words.

"Bones?" Booth cupped her biceps and turned her to face him, trying to gain eye contact. "Are you alright?"

"Is _she_ alright? Are you _kidding_ me? I'm the one laying in the floor bleeding out with a broken nose and you're asking is _she's_ alright?!" Russ finally lifted his head upright, testing to see if the bleeding had ceased. "_Are you for real_?"

"Hey, simmer down, there, huh?" Booth's eyes grew dark and threatening. "If she hit you, she had a reason. And right now, she's my priority… Not you."

"Yes," Brennan's absent voice finally found itself again. "Yes, I'm ok." She looked earnestly at Booth through wet eyes, a flood of thoughts streaming through her mind at once.

Seeing the panic behind her blues, Booth calmly pinned her with a firm stare. "Bones, what happened?" When Booth asked the question, he wanted to know what had occurred to spur on this unusual act of violence from his partner. The answer he received, however, was simply a literal translation of his inquiry.

Brennan looked down at her own hand, curling it into a fist. "I…" She swallowed thickly. "I rolled my hand into a fist like this… And," she drew her arm back in demonstration. "I shifted my weight thusly," her hips moved as her stance widened. "And…"

Booth easily caught her fist midair as it came at him, careful not to squeeze so hard that he would hurt her. Cradling her hand, he brought it between them to examine it as she continued her dialog.

"My intention was not to hit Russ in the face. I thought fleetingly about punching him in the gut, but then decided to aim higher, like his chest… Or shoulder. Just to get his attention… just to make him stop..." Her wide eyes watched Booth's thick fingers tenderly stroke her knuckles. "But instead I hit his nose…" Her sentence faded away as the reality of what she had done really set in. "It wasn't my intention to break his nose…"

"Ok, Bones," Booth cooed her tenderly. "I want you to go put ice on it." His finger stroked over her quickly bruising skin. "On your hand… I want you to go into the kitchen and put a baggie of ice on it, ok?" His dark eyes remained calm and they sought contact with hers. "Bones?" He recognized the look of shock when he saw it. "Baby, it's gunna swell if you don't ice it…"

At the intimate pet name, her attention turned back to his instructions. Nodding, she slipped her hand from his palm and turned slowly towards the kitchen, in search of a plastic baggie in which she could pour some crushed ice.

Unable to hide the humor at seeing Russ sulking on the floor, Booth rolled his eyes, extending a hand to the man to help him up. "I dunno what the hell you did… But whatever it was, I bet you don't do it again…"

Russ tried to pull away from Booth's hand as the agent guided him by the shoulder out to the kitchen. He didn't appreciate being laughed at, or being pitied by a guy his own age...but he was unsuccessful as Booth's grip held his shoulder tight. With a final shrug, Russ finally dislodged himself from Booth's iron fist, but quickly found himself being pulled back onto a barstool.

"Sit." Booth said flatly, his eyes watching Brennan's reaction to their proximity as they joined her at the island. Walking over to the freezer, he dug way in the back of the second shelf and pulled out a bag of frozen peas, the same bag he'd used recently after a particularly rough game of hockey. He turned and tossed it onto the counter, loosening the frozen mass into the individually flash-frozen veggies and proceeded to slide the bag to Russ. "Tilt your head back and put that on your face. It won't stop the bruising, but it sure as hell'll help with the swelling."

Accepting the offer with a grunt, Russ did as instructed and rested his head against the backrest of the bar stool, draping the bag of frozen vegetables across his eyes and tender nose. Stifling a groan at the seemingly lead-weight of the six-ounce bag, he exhaled through his mouth and remained silent as he listened to his sister's partner step closer to where he knew Brennan was standing.

The anthropologist avoided eye contact with either of the men, choosing instead to stare intently at her hand, which rested on the countertop, covered with a ziplock baggie of ice chips. She listened when Booth helped her brother up off the floor and guided him out to the barstool. And she recognized that while he didn't know what exactly had happened between the two, Booth was concerned for the Brennan siblings. Feeling the radiating warmth of his body as he drew closer, she finally dragged her eyes up from her blind focus and met his dark orbs, understanding the unspoken question. She chanced a glance at her brother, who still sat with his head tilted back, and then moved her watery blues back to her partner.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind at once. She knew he wanted to know what happened, and he had a right to know. But when the truth was finally revealed to him, he would learn that her brother was vehemently opposed to their relationship… And she would have to recap the conversation to him, repeating the horrible things that Russ had said. The emotionally-stunted scientist worried that Booth would somehow hold her brother's opinions against her...or that his behavior would reflect poorly on her own character. She feared that Booth would see her inability to have handled the situation in a more mature, rational manner to be a shortcoming or flaw that she wouldn't be able to overcome. The woman who was once so terrified of relationships that she literally ran to distant countries just to avoid such connections was suddenly terrified that the one man who had broken through her metaphorical wall would be disappointed enough in her poor handling skills that he might leave. These fears were the very reason she had insisted they keep their budding relationship relatively quiet for a while, allowing them both the necessary time to adjust to being a couple as opposed to simply being partners.

Both watched the war taking place behind Brennan's tear-filled eyes and knew instantly what she was thinking. While he didn't know what had transpired between her and her brother, the agent knew Brennan was concerned about his opinion of her. Reaching out, he cupped his wide palm against her cheek, allowing his thumb to catch the disobedient tear that dislodged itself from her lower lashes. He searched her face, waiting for her pale eyes to raise up and meet his. When they finally did, and he could see she was close to losing her composure, he leaned in and pressed a kiss directly in front of her ear.

"It'll be ok, Bones." He whispered softly, breathing the words so only she could hear. He pulled back and looked at her tenderly, nodding once before he lowered his hand from her delicate jaw. "Keep this ice on here," he motioned to her knuckles and waited until she nodded in consent.

Backing away, he moved over to where Russ sat, and he carefully removed the peas from the man's face. Looking carefully at the now-crooked nose, he shook his head. "This is gunna have to be set, man." His Philly accent was suddenly thick as he thought back to his first broken nose. "Unless you wanna breath outta just your right nostril for the rest of your life…." He moved his eyes to Russ's, knowing that while the guy had been in and out of jail for most of his life, it had always been for petty crimes, and he had never done really hard time, with really hard people. In fact, Booth ventured to guess that Russ Brennan hadn't even been in any real down-and-out fights in which he'd had his face beaten. It was blatantly obvious that the man's nose had never been broken. "You wanna go to the ER?"

Squaring his shoulders, feeling more than a little miffed at being coddled by the man who had invaded his sister's life so completely, Russ shook his head, immediately regretting the movement. "No way man," he grabbed his forehead in pain, "ah dammit…" Once the sharp pain subsided, he glanced up an Booth. "I just started this new job... My healthcare doesn't kick in until two more months…"

Booth nodded, once again focusing on the injured man's nose. "Well," he shrugged one shoulder. "Bones could set it…"

Russ was enraged. "Are you fucking crazy?! She just broke it! You think I'm letting her anywhere near my face again, you're insane…"

"Hey," Booth held his hands out, feeling the tension rising from where his partner stood behind him. "Calm down, there Russ… I'm just making a suggestion…"

"Russ, I didn't mean…" Brennan tried to interject, only to be cut off by Russ's anger.

"_Didn't mean_ my ass, Tempe…" His eyes hardened and tried to look over Booth's broad shoulder to where she stood, out of his line of sight.

Ignoring the exchange, Booth put his hands firmly on Russ's shoulders and centered him on the stool once more. "Sit still…" He brought one of his hand up to the bridge of Russ's nose and squeezed gently, knowing exactly how painful a broken nose could be.

"Ow! What the fuck?!" Russ tried to push Booth's hand away, but realized it was like trying to move a mountain.

"I'm just lookin'..." He placed his hands on his hips and considered their options. "We could call Cam… She might have some pain meds that could dull the pain and she could probably reset it…" He cracked his neck by tilting his head sharply to the side. "Or…" Without meeting Russ's eyes, and ignoring the fidgety reactions that his scrutiny was eliciting, he brought both hands up to the smaller man's face. Lining his thumbs up alongside Russ's nose, he calculated the degree to which the appendage had been broken. Guesstimating it was no worse than his own second broken nose, Booth hummed, chewing the inside of his lower lip. "We could just…"

"_Jesus Fucking Christ, Booth!_" Russ nearly came out of the chair at the searing pain that shot through his head when Booth decided to align his thumbs, realigning his nose at the same time. "What the hell is wrong with you!?" He felt blood start to drip to his upper lip and brought his hand up to catch it.

Ignoring the outburst, Booth simply placed his palm across Russ's forehead, forcing it back against the backrest again while bringing a paper towel up to the blood. "Calm down…" He made Russ hold the napkin in place. "The pressure behind your eyes will subside in a few minutes. And once it's healed, you should be able to breathe a little better than if you didn't have it set…"

"You're a goddamn… What the hell is _wrong_ with you!?" Russ mumbled from beneath the rag. "I'm gonna…" He didn't know what he wanted to threaten Booth with, but he wanted something that could actually be carried out… And something that would be at the very least, intimidating to the agent. He closed his eyes and opened them again slowly… The pressure had actually started to subside, just like Booth said it would… It still hurt, it hadn't let up completely, but it was undeniably less that just moments before. "Wha-?" He reached up and gently touched his forefinger to his nose, wincing at the discomfort when he pressed. Raising his eyes up to meet Booth's, he wrinkled his forehead. "You're right…" His voice was full of disbelief. "The pressure just eased up…"

"Yeah," Booth snorted. "I have some experience with broken noses…" Grabbing Russ's shoulder, he pulled him from the chair. "C'mon, get up." He could tell that Russ was trying to catch Brennan's attention, but he wanted a moment alone with his partner before he let the two of them go at it again. Pushing him I gently down the hall, he steered the smaller man into the bathroom and then reached under the sink. "Here," he extended a wash cloth. "Wash your face, just go easy around your nose."

Russ stood facing himself in the mirror. He couldn't believe his reflection… In the short while since he'd been unexpectedly knocked onto his ass by his little sister, dark rings had formed below his eyes and despite the bag of frozen peas he'd held in place, the swelling was substantial. His eyes traveled down his front, following the trail of now-dried blood where it had dripped from his nose to his chin and finally onto his shirt. _All from a poorly aimed fist_, he thought ruefully…

Startled as the bathroom door opened again, he turned to see Booth popping back into the tiny room. "Here," he plopped a t-shirt onto the counter and handed Russ a small bottle. "Use this to clean your shirt. It's what I use on my hockey uniforms… Takes care of blood stains really well." He raised his chin as his eyes turned serious, studying the expression on Russ's face as his partner's older brother watched him cautiously. "C'mon back out when you're done… We'll crack open a few beers and have a chat…". Without further comment, he turned, closing the door on his way out.

Brennan could hear the conversation between her partner and brother, and she felt nauseous. She didn't know how she would face either one of them that evening… She just wanted to go to her room, close the door and hibernate while crying into her pillow, tears she didn't fully understand. Hearing the familiar cadence of his approaching footfalls, she raised her eyes just as Booth rounded the corner into the kitchen. He paused for only a fraction of a second, taking in her defeated, willowy stance as she stood beside the island, in very much the same position she'd been in when he turned his attention briefly to her injured sibling. As he closed the distance separating them, she immediately let the threatening tears loose as she fell against his chest, feeling his arms wrap around her shoulders, holding her close.

Booth let her cry for a moment, feeling her body tremble slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "Ok," he whispered into her hair, rubbing large circles across her back. "It's ok, Bones. Calm down… Take a couple of breaths…"

The sound of his voice, the sensation of his strong, protective arms around her, and the mere fact that he was holding her so tenderly, even before he knew what had happened, all served to help calm her nerves. She listened to his soothing words and inhaled deeply several times, taking in his cologne and allowing it to metaphorically wash over her. Once she felt like she could express herself, the scientist pulled back slightly, turning her red-rimmed eyes up to Booth.

Knowing that his partner had been planning to break the news to Russ that evening, disclosing their relationship, Booth assumed it had gone poorly. "I take it Russ was less than pleased with your announcement?"

Shifting her stance and fixing her hands on his waist, she shrugged one shoulder. "I never even had the chance to tell him…" She rolled her lips between her teeth nervously, unable to conceal her nervousness at having to tell Booth about Russ's outburst and her subsequent silencing of his objections.

"Then what…" Booth started to ask, only to be cut off as she took a deep breath and launched.

"He was waiting out here for me… I ran late getting home from the lab, so I was not ready when he arrived." She knew she was about to start rambling, a fault she never quite outgrew when she found herself anxious. "A late delivery of ancient artifacts arrived today from one of my colleagues on a dig in South America," she suddenly became animated. "It is quite exciting, actually. It appears that they may have uncovered the ruins of a lost city…"

Booth watched, amused, as Brennan's eyes lit up with excitement, but he also knew how easily she could be distracted when discussing new finds. "That's awesome, Baby. And I look forward to hearing more about those ruins… Once we get through whatever happened here tonight…" He curled one side of his mouth up, letting her know it was alright to continue.

Recognizing his gentle prod for what it was, the anthropologist refocused her attention. "Right, sorry…" She backtracked to where she left off. "So, anyway, I told him to make himself comfortable while I finished getting ready…" Getting lost in thought, she glanced past her partner, towards the shelves in front of which they'd had their argument. "He…" She moved her eyes back to meet his deep chocolates. "I came out, expecting an amicable greeting…something acceptable between adult siblings… And when I pulled back from kissing his cheek, he started ranting about all my pictures...and the ones of you and me being un-partner-like...and then he turned his attention to all the photos of Parker, and he complained that I had more shots of Parker than I do of Haley and Emma…" She looked at her partner with wide, pleading eyes. "But Booth, I only have _those_ photographs of the girls! I don't have any others! If I had more, I would put them up!" She dropped her hands, feeling defeat. "How am I supposed to display more pictures of people whose pictures I don't have to begin with!? And…" She swallowed, nervous about having to confess the distasteful insults he had said about Booth and his true intentions, as Russ saw them…

"Bones," Booth could tell she had more to say, but he needed her to calm down a bit. It was clear as day to him that she was going to start rambling again. "Listen," he cupped her biceps until she met his gaze and he knew he had her attention. "Its pretty obvious that you and Russ aren't gonna make your reservation tonight." He flexed his fingers against the soft material of her blouse. "How about you call the restaurant and tell them you won't make it and then go get comfortable? I'll warm up the leftover lasagna from last night for you two. Russ can have the meat sauce that I didn't finish. I picked up a burger on my way home tonight, so I'll have that. And we can all sit down and have a talk."

Thankful that he didn't want to leave her to her own devices with trying to work out a discussion with Russ, Brennan nodded. "Ok." She reached across the counter and opened her purse, extracting her phone. "Yes, I'll call and cancel our table…"

Watching his girl turn towards the hall, he listened until her heard the bedroom door click closed. As he pulled dishes and bowls from the refrigerator, he heard the shuffling sounds of Russ re-entering the kitchen. When he turned back, he saw the man standing at the far corner of the island.

"So, I guess I'll go…" Russ was clearly uncomfortable in Booth's presence without his sister nearby. "I, uh…" He held up his soiled shirt. "I think the hotel I'm supposed to check into has a guest laundry. I'll wash your t-shirt tonight when I run this through. And I'll drop it back off tomorrow or Sunday on my way outta town…"

"No rush," Booth answered honestly. "Have a seat, man." He jerked his head towards the bar stool once more. "You and Bones aren't gonna make your reservation. So she is calling to cancel it." He unwrapped the leftovers from the previous evening. "We've got some lasagna from last night left. It's vegetarian, but if you add this," he held up a container of extra-beefy meat sauce, "you'll like it."

Trying to figure out Booth's angle in all this, Russ eyed the offering warily. "Well… I dunno if Tempe'll actually want to eat with me…"

"Of course she does." Booth wasn't entirely certain that his partner _wanted_ to eat with her brother either, but he knew it _needed_ to be done. Russ needed to be made aware they they were officially together, whether he approved or not… "Besides, you're here… And a man's gotta eat…" He shrugged innocently, not waiting for an acceptance before tuning his attention back to warming up their dinner. "But you can't have any of my pie…" He cocked an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Russ. "I stopped at the bakery on my way home and only bought one piece… And I ain't sharing that…"

Russ didn't miss any of the blatant hints Booth was dropping. '_We have leftovers'...'on my way home_'... The fact that he had a shirt there that Russ could borrow or that the extra-strength cleanser he used for his hockey shirts was in his sister's apartment… Not to mention the fact that he'd let himself into the place with his own key and that Tempe didn't even seem phased at seeing him in her home.

Sensing that the small-time criminal was successfully putting together the puzzle, Booth remained silent while plating the portions onto microwave-safe dishes. When he turned back around, grabbing three beers from the fridge and handing one of them to Russ, he took a long swallow from his bottle. Opening Brennan's and leaving it on the island for when she rejoined them, he finally broke the thick silence.

"So," he placed the bottle down. "You have any questions? Comments? Concerns?"

Knowing that Booth was trying to get straight to the point, Russ knew he needed to come clean. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do…" Popping the cap from his bottle, he tried to choose the best strategy. He mentally sifted through the myriad of questions flooding his brain, attempting to pick the best opener. Finally he settled on the one, most important question he needed answered...all the rest would follow. Swallowing thickly, he meet Booth's hard eyes from across the kitchen and he knew, that while the man was being cordial and generous in his offerings, he wasn't about to take any shit, and if anything Russ said was misconstrued, Booth could easily break him in two. Throwing back a quick sip of beer, he winced when his knuckles bumped against his broken nose. Once his eyes focused again, he nodded once.

"Do you love her?" The words came out relatively softly, but he knew that if a man as hard as Seeley Booth would openly admit to his feelings for Tempe, then everything else would very likely fall into place quite nicely.

"Of course I do," he leaned on the counter top of the island. "I love Bones more than anyone else in the world, with one exception…". He saw Russ's defenses go up and he quickly spoke up to sooth them. "My son."

Understanding immediately, Russ sat back in the seat. "Well, yeah… Kids are different, aren't they?"

Booth nodded. "And now that you're a father as well," he knew that Russ was working towards adopting Amy's girls, and even though the paperwork wasn't yet complete, he still thought of them as _his_ daughters, "you know the different kind of love you have for a child versus the kind you have for a woman."

Russ nodded, watching the man who had once locked him away in prison. "And she loves you?"

"Well," Booth smirked. "She says she does," he stood up straighter and looked at the hallway, where the focus of their discussion was hovering just out of sight. "But I suppose you better ask her directly… If I answer for her, she tends to kick my ass…"

Feeling embarrassed that Booth had picked up on her presence, she rolled along the wall, making herself visible to both men. She looked at her brother with clear, unquestioning eyes. "Yes, I love him, Russ." She moved over to stand beside her partner. "I've loved Booth for a long time… I've just been afraid to tell him because I was certain that I would lose him… The way I've lost all the other people I've loved in my life…"

Feeling the cold sting of the truth, Russ took a slow drink of beer, contemplating his next question. "Does dad know?" He pinned his sister with a cool glare.

"Not yet," she looked down at her hand, running her fingers over the bruised skin on the back of her right knuckles. "I haven't told him yet."

"Great," Russ's smile grew impishly. "You can tell him tomorrow. He's supposed to be swinging into town. Said he'd be coming back from a trip with Rosalind, whoever that is, and he figured he would be back around 11:30 or noon."

Fear striking her to the very core, Brennan's eyes swiveled up to see her brother's grin. "Dad's going to be in town tomorrow? As in _tomorrow-tomorrow_?" As the words left her mouth, she knew they didn't make sense, but suddenly she felt transported back to her pre-teen years when she was afraid to tell her father about the boy who kissed her on the playground.

Chuckling at his awkward partner, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Well, Bones, it had to happen sometime… Might as well be all in one weekend." He grinned at Russ, knowing that Max was liable to take the news much worse than Russ had.

Turning her inquisitive eyes up to Booth, she nudged him in the ribs. "I don't know why you're laughing, Booth… he's going to know that you're sleeping with his little girl… And there's no telling what he will do to you when he figures out that little bit of information…"

Winking at Russ as he pulled her close again, Booth took a final pull from his beer. "Ahh, whatever he dishes out, I can take. I took him before… I'll take him again…"

"Booth, don't you dare arrest him for assault if he hits you…" Brennan pushed away from her partner as both he and her brother burst out laughing. Moving her eyes between the men who suddenly seemed to be engrossed in a moment of bonding, she finally shook her head and turned to the microwave, deciding to warm up their meals as opposed to trying to decipher what they found so humorous…

**Postscript A/N**

**So, we never got to see how they broke the news to family members about their relationship blossoming out beyond partnership. I don't really know how Russ feels towards Booth in the show, but in my mind, he would still hold a bit of a grudge for the whole arrest-thing, even though, as Brennan pointed out, Booth was way more lenient on Russ than he needed to be. **

**I imagine that Brennan would struggle with vocalizing her emotions in the early stages of their romance and that is why I had her freak out, perhaps a little OC, but hey, this is fic and if you can't make a character OC here, where can you do it?! But oh boy... I wonder if JazzyMuse has anything up her sleeve about revealing their truth to Max….? I can tell you this, there isn't anything written for it yet, but once I get you all caught up with Aggregation, there's no telling what might develop! **

**peace &amp; love, my friends, **

**~jazzy**


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